


Blood On My Name

by tempered_rose



Series: Western Verse [2]
Category: Football RPF, Real Person Fiction, Sports RPF
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Prostitution, Alternate Universe - Western, American Civil War, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Bandits & Outlaws, Civil War, Crimes & Criminals, Drama, Established Relationship, Eventual Romance, Family, Fluff and Angst, Gangs, Implied Relationships, Jealousy, Kidnapping, Law Enforcement, Multi, NaNoWriMo, Native American Character(s), Original Character(s), Rescue, Western
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-02
Updated: 2015-04-06
Packaged: 2018-02-23 15:09:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 67,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2552081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tempered_rose/pseuds/tempered_rose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When two local cattle hands on a farm in Sundance, New Mexico go missing while on a cattle drive headed Northeast, the sheriff Mats Hummels has to do a little digging into what happened to them. In the process, he has a young deputy named the Kid to look after, an ever-growing tension with the Apache to contend with, a prostitute for a mistress that just won't keep his mouth closed for any reason, and the usual chaos of a town in the West.</p><p>It isn't easy being the sheriff, but someone has to do it.</p><p> </p><p>  <span class="small">Written for NaNoWriMo 2014.</span></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. High Noon

**Author's Note:**

  * For [scionavarielle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/scionavarielle/gifts), [elizaberglund](https://archiveofourown.org/users/elizaberglund/gifts).



> Here it is folks. My NaNo for 2014, and if you don't know about NaNo, then I suggest you go [here](http://nanowrimo.org/) and take a look at it because it's a great project. This fic is dedicated to Elma, who requested a continuation of [this fine piece of literature](http://archiveofourown.org/chapters/5649530) that I wrote, and, having decided I need a break from the [Realm Verse](http://archiveofourown.org/series/155093) series, I agreed to create this one instead. I'm also gifting this story to Eliza, whose encouragement would not have made this year as awesome as it already has been for me in the fic-writing sense, so thank you my dear Queen for your patronage and support. ♥
> 
> For the story: It is mostly going to be a Western AU, with prostitution elements thrown in for fun (in more ways than one) and also mixes my favorite genre of mystery/whodunit with adventure, and, of course, Westerns. And yes, I have been watching a lot of John Wayne movies lately, and you should too because they're awesome. There's also going to a few minor historical inaccuracies, simply because I don't think I'm perfect and will make a few mistakes, whether they are intentional (because the story works better, though I will try to keep these to as minimum as possible) or accidental (which most would be because hey, research is great but it ain't no time machine). Please forgive any and all mistakes. I'm also going to update the tags as I go.
> 
> And as always with any of my work, ConCrit is well received along with reviews. So without any further ado, may I present:
> 
>  
> 
>   
> 

“Thanks for coming out, Sheriff. Sure do appreciate it.”

Mats nodded as he dismounted, moving over to shake the man’s hand, who had called him out from Sundance to his ranch. Mats moved into the shade of the porch and tied his horse on the fence rail.

“It’s no trouble, Mister Ballack.”

“Please, come in. Let me get you something to drink.” Michael Ballack led the way into his house, holding the door open for the sheriff. Mats went up the three steps necessary and crossed the porch before he walked into the one room that served as a reception area, kitchen, dining room, and guest bedroom of the cabin as Michael entered in behind him.

“Water is fine, thank you.” Mats replied, holding his hat in his hand as soon as he crossed the threshold into the house. He looked around at the sparseness of furniture in the cabin and also the broken glass of one of the windows in the back near the kitchen. “What happened there?”

“Where?” Michael looked behind and saw where Mats was indicating and he looked back before a look of clarification crossed his face. “Oh that. That isn’t anything important, Sheriff. That’s not why I called you out here for.”

The other man returned with a mug of water and handed it over. “That’s just a broken window from the kids playing and not paying any attention.”

Mats nodded and took a seat when Michael offered him one and he sipped the water gratefully. It had been over an hour’s ride to the man’s ranch and even longer since he’d had a drink of anything in that time. The sun was exceptionally hot today, as well. He was mighty thirsty. When he had finished drinking his spell, he looked at the other man and set the mug down on the roughly finished wooden table.

“What can I do for you, sir?” Mats put his hat on the table and looked at the rancher in front of him. He studied the other man and recalled what he knew of the rancher.

Michael wasn’t too much older than himself, only about ten years or so, but he looked it. He had taken over the Sand Down Ranch when Michael Ballack Senior had passed away a few years back and had been running it ever since. He wasn’t married at present, but he had been before. His first wife, Simone, had died a few years back along with the baby she had delivered but hadn’t been able to save. Mats’ felt for the man, but the rancher seemed to have gotten over the loss. He took great pride in his work and was so far doing very well as a cattle rancher in the Territory.

“Well, Sheriff.” Michael started after a moment and he was busy absently running his finger along the rough wood of the table. Mats wondered if he would get a splinter if he kept going, but he kept the thought to himself. “Them Indians…”

 _At least he didn’t call them redskins,_ Mats thought approvingly. _This time._

“They have been coming around here more and more often. I know you’ve been out here before for when they kill one or two of my cattle and drag it off for their own. I’m all right with that so long as it isn’t often and it’s only the one or the two.” Michael continued at his own leisurely pace and Mats was content enough to let him go as such. He had learned long ago, you don’t rush a man who needs to tell a story. And by God it looked it Michael Ballack needed to get something out of his system.

“Anyhow, I asked you to come out here today because I think more has been stolen and I can’t think of anybody else who would have done so.”

Mats watched the other man across the table. “How many cattle have been stolen?”

“In total? Twenty. But that’s been over about four months. What I’m talking about is six in the past week. That’s not like them ever before. The most they ever got at one time was three, but then they didn’t come back for a few weeks. This time they took twice as many as that and they had only been here last week.”

Mats watched the man with wide eyes. Twenty was a lot for a rancher, even one who had a large spread like Ballack’s Sand Down Ranch. Six in one week was uncommon by anyone’s standards. Especially when there were other ranches in the area. This one just happened to be the biggest one.

“I see. Well, I reckon I go out there and have a talk with the Apache. See if there’s not anything I can do for you.” Mats replied. “I’ll head out at first light in the morning.”

Michael nodded. “Thank you sheriff. I sure do appreciate it. Don’t want them Injuns getting what ain’t theirs, if you know my meaning.”

Mats resisted the wince he felt inside at the insult and he nodded instead. “I understand, sir. Do keep an eye out on your livestock though. Let me know if any more go missing when I stop back around in a day or so to give you an update.”

“Will do.” Michael said with a nod and he stood up, along with Mats who picked his hat up off the table. Mats carried it out across the room and onto the porch where the rancher followed after him.

“Don’t take any unnecessary risks, Mister Ballack.” Mats added once they were on the porch. Mats had taken a step down and was level eye to eye with the rancher who had stayed on his front porch.

“I’ll defend myself and my property if anyone tries to take it…” Michael replied warningly, and a little too quickly for Mats’ liking.

“And that is your right to do so. Just don’t go looking for trouble, is all I ask.” Mats suggested and put his hat back on his head. “I’ll stop around again in a couple days, hopefully with an update for you. Take care of yourself, Mister Ballack.”

Mats gave the man a nod before he stepped off of the porch and started towards his horse. One of Ballack’s hired hands had given the horse some water and a rub down.

“Tell your man thanks for the courtesy.” Mats motioned to his horse as he climbed up onto him.

“I’ll see that it gets to him.” Michael replied from the porch. He had his arms crossed and was leaning against the railing.

“Much obliged.” Mats took the reigns of his horse, Paa-puuku, and started out of the main drag of the ranch and back towards the road that would lead back home to Sundance. He tipped his hat at one of the worker’s wives out of politeness and he gently spurred Paa-puuku into a trot as he left the ranch completely behind in the dust.

 

By the time Mats returned to Sundance, the sun was high enough in the sky to make the buzzards take shelter from the heat. He was soaked through with sweat and Paa-puuku wasn’t much better. He stopped off at Lahm’s Livery to let the horse have a good long rest, making sure to tip the boy Erik a little extra for giving him a good rub down to keep him cooled off. Leaving the sanctuary of the stables, Mats walked the back way back towards the jail, simply so that he could have as much shade as possible to keep the burning orb in the sky off of his back.

He entered the jail through the back way and he saw that the Kid was looking pretty poorly indeed. Mats cracked a smile as he took off his hat and threw it over the Kid’s face. Mats laughed as the Kid scrunched up his nose at the smell of a sweat-soaked hat and threw it onto the desk.

“Don’t mistreat my hat. You’ll have to buy me a new one if anything happens to that one there, Kid.” Mats moved into the jail and picked up the fresh pail of water that had been brought in from the creek earlier that morning. The supply was running low; he’d have to see if there was anything in the well that could tide them over till sundown.

“Stop throwing it on me then, sir.” Julian replied and Mats shook his head. Always so polite, was his deputy. Mats took a long drink from the ladle of the water pail and then moved over to sit in his chair by his desk. As he walked, he loosened a few of the buttons on his shirt.

He put his feet up on his desk, groaning in pleasure as he did so for finally taking a load off, and he looked his deputy over.

Julian had red in his cheeks that wasn’t normally always there, and he had a touch of sunburn on his neck where his shirt didn’t quite cover. _A redneck,_ Mats thought with amusement as he continued his study. He looked flushed and incredibly uncomfortable. Sweat was on his forehead, darkening his temples, and Mats was pretty sure that if the Kid stood up, there’d be a sweat stain all down his back.

“Don’t they have hot weather in Pennsylvania or wherever it is you come from back East?” Mats asked, letting the amusement linger. He liked to tease his deputy about being out of town. Unlike the other people in Sundance, though, Mats teased nicely. He considered it a ‘warming up’ process, where the others of Sundance still considered Julian to be an outsider.

“They do, but God above, it’s not like this. Sir.” Julian added on the end and Mats wanted to shake his head, but he didn’t.

“You can drop the Sir, Kid.” Mats took another glance at the wanted posters. No new ones, just the same bad drawings as there had been when he had left earlier.

“How do you people stand it?” Julian asked, sounding rather forlorn about the heat.

Mats looked back at him and smiled a little. “Practice is all.”

The Kid shook his head and Mats relaxed back in his chair, thinking about the Ballack situation for a few minutes. Julian lapsed back into his own silent study with his eyes closed and his discomfort with the temperature very evident in his lack of will to exert any energy that wasn’t absolutely necessary.

Mats shook his head after a while when he thought of a plan.

“Tomorrow you’re coming with me. We’ll leave at first light, I suggest you get some sleep early.” Mats spoke suddenly and Julian opened his eyes and looked over. Mats recognized the look of surprise on his face.

“Where are we going, sheriff?” The question he didn’t ask was written all over his face. With his answer, Mats answered both.

“Gonna go talk to Cochise*. I didn’t plan on going alone. I’d like to keep my scalp if it’s all the same to you.”

Julian was quiet for a few moments before he answered, visibly swallowing before he did so.

“I-I thought,” his voice broke a little and Mats wanted to shake his head again, “I thought that you and the Apache had a good relationship?” _Why do you need me to go along with you?_

“A relationship with an Apache chief is like a relationship with a mistress, don’t turn your back until you’re sure all the sharp objects are put away.” Mats replied and then shook his head and made his tone more serious. “I have a few questions for Cochise and I ain’t no Tom Jeffords*. I need somebody to come back with me, even if it is you.”

Julian visibly stiffened at the last part of what Mats said. The sheriff realized the callousness of it, but he wasn’t going to apologize. The Kid was likely to hear much worse out in the West, and it was true after all. However, the memories stirred in Mats’ mind and he shifted out of his chair and he moved over to the Kid’s desk, where he picked up his hat and put it on while starting for the door.

“Where you headed to now?” Julian asked, still remembering what the sheriff had just said.

“Going to go see if I can’t find Philipp. Going to need somebody to look around town while we’re gone tomorrow.” Mats walked out the open door and stood on the porch, squinting in the bright sunshine. He called back into the now-dark doorway into the jail. “Get some more water from the well so we don’t run out. I’ll be back in twenty minutes.”

Mats didn’t wait for an answer from his deputy as he started back to the stables. He was going to wait a bit and ask a little later, but he decided now was a good a time as any to trouble the stables master. Besides, he didn’t want Julian to ask any questions about the fairly recent opening of his post as the sheriff’s deputy and how he had come to fill that role. The gossips of Sundance could answer that better than he could anyway, if the Kid really wanted to know the answer. Mats wasn’t feeling inclined to share. Even the sheriff was allowed a few secrets every now and again, wasn’t he?

He walked into the office of the Livery stable and removed his hat, knocking politely on the door that led to Philipp’s inner office. He waited until the man got up and opened the door and recognized him.

“Sheriff! How nice to see you.” The smaller man greeted and then stepped back to allow him inside. They shook hands and Mats took a seat on the opposite side of Philipp’s desk. “What can I do for you? There’s no problem with your lovely horse is there?”

“Of course not. Durm’s a good kid and takes a fine care of Paa-puuku.” Mats replied and rested his hat in his lap. “I need you to keep an eye on town tomorrow, all day. The Kid and I are going into the canyon for a while and we should be back around dark, if not a little after.”

Philipp watched him warily for a moment but didn’t comment on his plans. There were really only two reasons to go into the canyon, and since there hadn’t been any criminals on the run lately, it meant that Mats needed to go talk to the Chief about something. The fact that he was taking the Kid with him… Well.

“It must be serious indeed, if you are to be gone all day long.” Philipp replied with his words while he was really thinking _if you’re going to take the Kid with you._ “Are you sure you don’t want to leave the city kid here and not take someone else? Jürgen perhaps?”

Mats watched the other man for a moment. He was being given the perfect opportunity to take someone else with him instead of an inexperienced, untried young’un with him. It was a perfect gift wrapped in delicate politeness and the courtesy of concern and all he had to do was thank Philipp for that apprehension and agree that perhaps, yes, it would be better, smarter, to take someone else with him.

But Mats was the sheriff for a reason and he had a job to do. It didn’t matter who went with him in the end; whoever it was was going to be risking their neck just as much as he was. Better someone who had sworn a duty to protecting the people of the Territory than a civilian, if ever there was one in these wild lands.

“Already told him I would take him, got his hopes up. Can’t disappoint him now, can I?” Mats replied with a smile, but the polite warning underlined his words. Philipp nodded, aware of the situation but he wasn’t going to make comment on it.

“I would guess not.” Philipp smiled then and opened the drawer to his desk to pull out a worn, unpolished star. “I’ll be the deputy for a day, then. At your service, sheriff.”

Mats nodded and gave him a smile of thanks. “Glad to hear it. We’ll try to return in one piece for you.”

Mats stood then, shook the man’s hand once more, and then turned to leave. Before he made it to the door, Philipp’s voice called out to him.

“See that you do Mats. I don’t want two scalps sent back to me.”

Mats shook his head and turned back to Philipp. “The Apache don’t scalp anyone; it’s the Mexicans that do that*. I’ll see you around, Philipp.”

Mats left the office and the stables, the smell of horse overwhelming on such a hot day. He put his hat back on his head and adjusted the tin star on his chest. He rested his hands on his hips as he looked down the main road of his beloved Sundance and he felt the sun hot on his chest, burning him through the shirt he wore.

People were making their way inside to get out of the heat and he didn’t blame them. He knew that tonight though, things would get a little rowdy. Things always did when it was over a hundred like it undoubtedly was here today. He’d have to do his nightly stop at Lewandowski’s, just to make sure everything was in order.

The thought of the bar was enough to make Mats feel a bit more relaxed. He would take some company for the evening, he thought as the image of a nice blond man with an easy grin and a far easier mouth crossed his mind. Unlike the other nights though, he wouldn’t be able to stay. He would actually need some sleep and there was no way at all he would get any if he stayed in with Marco all night.

Mats shook his head and started back to the jail. He would sit on the front porch, take a break, and wait until the sun went down. Then tomorrow he and Julian would head west into Arizona’s territory and have a chat with the Apache. Philipp’s words crossed his mind but he shook it off. It wouldn’t be the most comfortable meeting he’d ever had, but as long as he remained calm and Julian didn’t overreact to anything, they’d be fine.

He just hoped the Kid could handle it and wouldn’t panic and get them both killed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1: [Cochise](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cochise) was a famed chief of the Apache Indians who led the Apache in many of the Indian Wars in the 1800's. He was a pretty badass dude.
> 
>  
> 
> 2\. [Tom Jeffords](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tom_Jeffords) was Cochise's only white friend. He was absolutely monumentally helpful in orchestrating the treaty that brought peace to the New Mexico territory between the Indians and the US Calvary.
> 
>  
> 
> 3\. [Scalping](http://southwestcrossroads.org/record.php?num=521) was not a thing they did commonly, but the Mexican Sonoran government offered a bounty on Apache scalps to those who would hunt them down and acquire them. This website (linked) is a great resource for anyone interested in learning more about the Apache.


	2. Before the Gray of Dawn

The sound of the bar downstairs was still loud enough to carry through the floorboards of Lewandowski’s as Mats lay on the bed. The window was open, but not much of a breeze was carrying through to him and his partner. Sweat still lingered on both of their skins, though it was not all entirely that of nature’s making. Mats was busy looking at the ceiling, listening to the sounds down below, while Marco was trailing his fingers along Mats’ chest hair absently while his head rested on Mats’ outstretched arm.

“How many times do you think?” Marco asked suddenly but Mats knew what he was talking about.

“I reckon four.” Mats replied, feeling his arm get a little bit numb from where the other man’s head had been resting on it for a while. Sure enough, after another moment, somebody (Arjen Robben, Mats would bet a year’s salary on it) shot their pistol four times in the air. Luckily, it wasn’t their room that received the bullet holes to the floor. This time.

“You owe me five dollars.” Mats replied, earning a smack to his chest from Marco, which made him laugh. From beneath them, everything had grown quiet and Satan Bob could be heard yelling ‘ _God damn it, Robben!_ ’ before the piano player started up again and the whooping and shouting carried on. “Make that seven, cause it was Robben.”

“We never settled on a figure.” Marco replied, playfully sulking. “And besides, it’s a fool’s bet anyway. It’s always Robben that shoots the place up. The only real fun is how many shots he gets in before Satan Bob tells him to get out.”

“Don’t know why he doesn’t just ban him from the establishment,” Mats replied, his lawman brain kicking on. Marco noticed and turned in his arms to nuzzle the skin of Mats’ neck before he nipped sharply on the skin there.

“Cause Arjen’s got more money than sense and Satan Bob and everybody else knows it.” Marco shifted up his neck and then kissed the sheriff on the lips. Mats replied easily enough, but it wasn’t with the same lust or fire as there had been between them earlier. He had been worn out; it had been a long day.

Mats held Marco close for a while longer, kissing him occasionally, before he took a glance at the time. He groaned a little and Marco pulled back to look him in the eyes.

“What is it?”

“I need to get going.” Mats replied and Marco sat up on his elbow.

“Why for? Got another date lined up after me?” He grinned, knowing full well that Mats didn’t.

“Hardly.” Mats sat up, rubbing his lower back as he did so and the mark there, as he reached for his pants. “Got a lot to do tomorrow is all and as much as I want to, I can’t stay here tonight cause I know I ain’t gonna get any sleep if I do.”

“Sleep is overrated.” Marco replied, watching the sheriff pull his tanned britches over his legs and round arse before he buttoned them and reached for his belt.

“Not when you have to talk to the Apache tomorrow, it ain’t.” Mats reached for his shirt, but Marco’s hand on his arm and his wide-eyes full of concern stopped him.

“Do what now?”

Mats smiled a little and lightly pulled his arm away to put his shirt on. “The Apache. Gonna ride out and talk to them tomorrow about something.”

“Don’t get shot.” Marco replied quickly, dryly, though the look of concern was still on his face. Mats shook his head as he began to button up his shirt and tuck it into the waist of his pants. He looked around for his boots; they had gotten lost somewhere in the commotion of getting undressed earlier.

“Shot ain’t exactly what I’m worried about,” Mats drawled, his accent coming out a little bit thicker than usual from his tiredness.

“Then what is?” Marco asked, sitting up and handing over a boot to the sheriff from underneath the bed.

Mats took the boot and began to put it on, debating on whether or not he should tell Marco what was going on. This little arrangement they had worked for numerous reasons, the most important one being that Mats got to have his pleasures and no one judge him for it, even though it was rumored what he was doing. Not least of all the fact that Marco was an attractive man and was more than willing enough to roll in the sin with him. That didn’t mean he trusted him with all his secrets and official business as the sheriff of a rowdy town in the Territory, either though. Marco _did_ work in Satan Bob’s establishment, after all.

“Never you mind.” Mats replied after a while and put on the other boot which he found from the bottom of the bed. He looked around for the last thing he was missing. “Where’s my hat?”

“By the door where you left it.” Marco replied quickly enough, watching as Mats got up to go grab it.

“I didn’t leave it there, you flung it over there.”

“Maybe I did.” Marco replied with a shrug. “You’re forgetting two things, Mats.”

“What’s that?” He asked, turning around and holding the brim of his large black hat in his hand. He looked around and didn’t immediately see anything he had left. He’d only brought what he had worn with him.

“A kiss goodbye, for a start.” Marco replied, now sitting on the edge of the bed. Mats moved over, happily enough to oblige him.

“And the second?” Mats asked, towering over him but not yet having kissed him.

“First thing’s first.” Marco replied, smirk in place on his lips.

Mats shook his head but leaned down, hand gripping Marco’s jaw and he held it in place as he covered the other man’s mouth with his own. Mats heard Marco groan a little as he licked the other man’s lips and they parted underneath his own. The scruff on Marco’s cheek was a wonderful contrast to the smoothness of other parts of his body, other parts that Mats remembered a little too well, and he held on tighter for a moment before he let him go and stood back up again.

“And the second thing?” Mats asked, voice thicker than normal with attraction lacing it.

Marco smirked a little again and he reached forward to pin the tin star onto Mats’ trousers, right over his groin.

“You left your star in the bed again.”

Mats shook his head as he unpinned the sheriff’s badge from his pants. He put it over his heart where it belonged and he turned to leave.

“I ain’t coming back to you anymore.” Mats replied by way of his usual departing remark.

“I’ll see you tomorrow night.” Marco replied in his usual way. Only this time he added at the end, “be careful.”

Mats threw his hand up by way of acknowledgement before he opened the door and left the room, intending to get a good night’s sleep before he and the Kid took off into the desert in the morning.

\---

It wasn’t even gray out yet when Philipp came over to the jail. He didn’t knock, but stepped right on in, and saw Mats around the small fire with the pot of coffee warming up so he could have a cup before he left. Mats nodded once in greeting, still sleepy but awake enough to know that coffee would help wake him up. Philipp sat down next to him and they spoke quietly, their voices carrying into the jail, but not loud enough to wake the Kid who still dozed off in the back corner.

“Weather seems good, but it’ll be another scorcher before the day’s over.” Philipp spoke quietly and Mats nodded, testing the temperature of the coffee by taking a sip before he grimaced and put it back in to continue heating up.

Philipp laughed a little at the sheriff’s reaction and he yawned as he rested in the chair. Even the stable master wasn’t quite awake yet. “Erik will have your horses ready. I made sure that he put in a few extra canteens.”

“Thanks.” Mats replied after a yawn of his own.

They stayed pretty quiet for a while longer until the coffee was ready and Mats poured them both a cup. After a few sips and moments’ of waiting, the coffee kicked in and Mats started to wake up properly. He stretched and stood up as he set the empty mug on the desk and he scratched his neck. He thought about shaving but he decided against it.

“I’ll go wake the Kid.” Mats turned to go do so when Philipp stopped him again.

“Are you sure? I’ll go with you if nobody else.”

Mats shook his head and looked over at the other man. “I appreciate it. But I already told him I’d take him. Next time, Philipp.”

The smaller man nodded but still watched him with a wary look and Mats started to walk further into the jail. It was an empty jail apart from the two of them, which he was grateful for. At least Philipp wouldn’t have to look after anyone, Mats thought as he walked through the familiar layout of the jail in the dark. He struck a match on the table as he caught the wick of a kerosene lantern and then adjusted the light before he put the globe back over it to protect the flame from accidentally blowing out.

“Hey, Kid. Wake up.” Mats called loudly to the figure laying on top of the blanket. Julian didn’t move at all. Mats shook his head and moved over to shake the other man’s shoulder and called out again. “Wake up, kiddo. We’re going to be moving out as soon as you’re dressed.”

Finally, Julian stirred, though it was more of a shifting of body position and a grumbling that signaled his protest at having been woken up earlier than his desired after-sunrise time. Mats ignored that and waited until he made sure the Kid was waking up instead of going to roll over and go back to sleep.

“Get up or I’m leaving you here.” Mats added for good measure before he turned to leave the Kid to the privacy of his own company to get dressed. “I’ll be waiting for you for five minutes, then I’m leaving without you. And if you want any coffee before we go, I suggest you make tracks.”

Mats didn’t turn around to see if Julian was actually waking up after those words; he could hear the heavy footsteps landing on the hardwood floor and the groaning of having to actually get up so early after being out late last night. Mats re-entered the main room that Philipp was still sitting in and he prepared the last check he was going to make of his supplies. He wasn’t going to travel heavily armed, but he still wasn’t going to go in without proper equipment either. Just because he wasn’t going to fight with Cochise didn’t mean he still trusted this temporary truce the Calvary and the Apache seem to have maintained together for the past few months.

“Do be careful, won’t you?” Philipp asked again and Mats shook his head.

“I’m really tired of people telling me to be careful. We’ll be fine. The Kid won’t mess it all up, I’m sure of it.” Mats replied, putting the extra rounds of ammunition for the rifle he was taking with them in a pouch to tie to his belt.

“Thanks for your confidence in me, sheriff.” The Kid said from the doorway, looking as unkempt as a newborn chicken. His hair was at odd angles and his shirt was definitely not straight, nor pressed. He didn’t even have on his bow-tie that he normally wore.

Both Philipp and Mats looked him over with raised eyebrows, a grin breaking out on Philipp’s face as they studied him. Mats was the one to break out into laughter first, quickly followed by Philipp.

“Look like the city boy’s finally realized he doesn’t need to be all dressed up for the likes of us out here!” Philipp laughed, pouring himself another cup of coffee.

Mats shook his head, grin still on his face. “Where _is_ my camera when I need it?” He chuckled and took the mug he had been using and poured the remaining bit of coffee into it and handed it over to Julian. “Drink up, we need to get going.”

Julian scowled after having been made fun of, but he took the cup and drank greedily from it. It was far too early in the day to retaliate with smart words against his boss and their temporary deputy. He finished the cup a little too soon for his liking and Mats nodded as they said their goodbyes to Philipp. Mats opened the door and ushered Julian, who yawned loudly, out of the jail and on the way to the livery stables.

It still wasn’t gray out when they arrived and Erik already had their horses ready to go. Mats greeted Paa-puuku with a murmuring of his name and a pet to the muzzle of the horse.

“What does his name mean?” Julian asked, leading the horse that he had been told’s name was Moonstar, out of the stables and to the road.

“‘Water Horse’.” Mats replied, mounting the creature and effortlessly adjusted to his seat. “In Comanche.”

Julian shook his head, mounting up on his own accord and they started down the main road. They spoke quietly out of politeness to the others that were either still asleep or not awake enough to do much about it.

“Why in Comanche?” Julian asked, still with another yawn. “They aren’t around here in this territory are they?”

“Felt like it.” Mats replied, patting his horse’s neck as they continued at a slow, leisurely pace. They wouldn’t ride hard for a while yet, and Mats would make sure they rested their horses enough just in case they needed to make a quick escape if things with Cochise went bad. “And no, no they aren’t around here on this side of the Territory, but they are on the east.”

He didn’t tell the Kid about the few times he had met the Comanche people back in Texas, nor did he tell the Kid about a lot of other things he knew. The best way to learn was to discover it for yourself on certain things, Mats thought and the Kid was still young. He still needed to figure a few things out on his own. With that being said, however, he was going to teach the Kid about the ways to handle the Apache without getting both of them shot or worse.

They had at least a four-hour ride, if not longer, out towards the canyon. The Kid could learn a lot in that expanse of time, and Mats wanted to make sure he would retain it. He would wait until they had crossed over the Gila River and into the Arizona Territory before he would start his lecture. The Kid would need to pay attention then because once they got to the river, they would be more than half way there.

Mats moved his horse in front of the Kid and led the way out of town, glad that they were getting started before the sun had the chance to come up and make everything a hot, dusty mess of a day.

“Make sure you stay awake and don’t fall asleep on me back there.” Mats called over his shoulder as they finally left the main city of Sundance. “Keep your eyes open.”

“It’s still dark out, there’s not anything to see.” Julian replied and Mats shook his head.

“There’s plenty to see. Like that cactus you’re trying to steer your horse into.” Mats didn’t look over his shoulder, but he heard the cursed swearword and the whinny of Moonstar as Julian turned out of the cactus’ way. Mats chuckled to himself and thought that at least for a few hours Julian could learn a thing or two about the desert-lifestyle that he was now forced into living.

Memory served well and Mats knew this was the first time the Kid was ever travelling further west out of one Territory into another. Mats knew that he hadn’t really dealt much with open desert before, apart from what little of it he had seen on the two hour-long trip on horseback from the nearest train station in Silver City north to where Sundance was. Mats had gone to fetch him from the station himself and remembered that fun ride. He never thought he’d seen a more awkward horseman than when he first rode out of Silver City with Julian beside him.

“Cheer up,” Mats said as the grayness of dawn began to flirt with the horizon. “It could be worse. By sundown we could be dead.”

“That makes me feel so much better sir, thank you.” Julian replied shortly and Mats shook his head.

“Enough of this sir business! Call me Mats or I’ll leave you out here to burn under the sun.” Mats restated the beginnings of this argument for the hundredth time. He wasn’t a ‘sir’. He didn’t act like one and he didn’t have the purest intentions in his heart to earn the respect of such a title.

“Just the same, sir. You are my superior and until you consider me an equal, sir it shall be.” Julian replied and Mats shook his head again.

“Have it your way, Kid. Now let’s pick up the pace before the sun comes up and the horses get overheated.” Mats lightly spurred Paa-puuku into motion and the horse increased speed into a trot. Julian wasn’t too far behind, Mats made sure of that.

Three hours to the river, Mats thought to himself. Then another hour or so until they reached the mountain where the Apache liked to hide out. He took a deep breath of morning air in the desert and he let himself be calm. Things would go all right and the Kid wouldn’t mess it up, he would see to that personally.


	3. Crossing the River

They reached the river around ten in the morning, by Mats’ reckoning. He held up his hand and Julian stopped beside him. He overlooked the ground of the slightly rolling hills that surrounded them while the slow gurgle of the Gila trickled by. It wasn’t a large river like the Mississippi by any stretch, and here, the Gila River was barely more than a creek. Even so, it was fresh clean water and they sure could use the break.

“Let’s give the horses a moment or two to rest.” Mats said as he started to slide off of Paa-puuku’s back. Julian took a moment or two to register his words before he also slipped off of his horse and led it to the water to drink.

“Keep your eyes open.” Mats replied while he used Paa-puuku’s back for a small amount of shade from the sun. It was already into the upper nineties, had to be, for as hot as it was. It was burning.

“For Indians?” Julian asked and Mats nodded.

The Kid knelt at the water’s edge a little upstream from where Moonstar was drinking his fill. He put his hand in and cupped a little of the water and brought it up to his mouth to drink. Mats watched him for a second before he looked back to the hills, particularly those on the Arizona side of where they were standing.

He knew where he was but he was debating the course and how to proceed. There was the slight chance that Cochise would not be near The Mountain but would be a little further south into the rocks of the small canyon about sixty miles south. If that was the case, it meant they would be gone a lot longer than a day and would have to camp overnight in very clearly marked and well-known Apache territory. It also meant that they would most definitely be found by the warriors of the tribe if they tried it.

Mats wasn’t looking forward to a night on the ground in the desert anyway, never mind with only the Kid for company and the chance of an ambush from a bunch of Indians that felt like testing the limitations of a so-called peace treaty. He really hoped that the legendary chief was where Mats thought he would be at the Mountain and not on a raiding trip or somewhere else that would risk an overnight, or longer, delay. It wasn’t like they could leave a message for him, either. That would have been far too easy.

“What is it?” The Kid asked and Mats looked back to him. “Do you see anything?”

Mats shook his head, his eyes refocused on the hills in front of him instead of the sight into his thoughts. “No, I don’t see anything.”

“Then why do you look so concentrated on something?” Julian asked, watching him warily. He looked a little less flushed now that he had drunk something and had refreshed his appearance a little.

“I’m thinking. It happens sometimes, you know.” Mats replied wryly and let Paa-puuku get another long drink from the river. They would need to get moving again soon or else they would be delayed and the scouts would notice them before Mats intended.

“Kid, I want you to listen to me for a few minutes. It’s important.” Mats replied, looking away from the hills and back to Julian. The city boy appeared to be giving him his full attention, something that Mats was appreciative for. At least the Kid wasn’t stupid, he thought.

“Once we cross over this here river, we’ll be in the Arizona Territory. And once we cross over, more importantly than a change of territory, we will be on Apache land. Now I know you’re book-learned and a right smart fella, but tell me, did they teach you anything about Indians where you come from?”

Julian shook his head. “Nothing but stories, and I doubt those would be of any use.”

“What were the stories about?” Mats asked anyway, though he thought he already had a good idea.

The Kid shrugged. “Things about bows and arrows, scalping people, hatred of the white man. Killing as many of them as possible. Things like that.”

Mats figured as much, and he said so out loud. “Never mind what you heard then. The Apache are quick and brave warriors. They don’t scalp nobody, but that don’t mean they’ll be nice to you if they decide they don’t like you either. Remember, there’s a lot more of them then there are of us and they know the ground better than we do. They know this desert, these canyons like the backs of their hands. They know where to hide, to get water, to hunt, they know it all and better than we ever could. They grew up in this desert and not even I know everything there is to know about it.”

Julian was nodding along as Mats stared into his eyes to convey his point. He didn’t interrupt though, and Mats was glad that at least they sent him a smart Kid to be his deputy.

“And just cause Cochise has agreed that there won’t be any more hostilities between his people and that of the United States government doesn’t mean that necessarily is true and I really would _not_ like to find out just how much a document carries any weight around there.” Mats looked away from Julian then and across to the other side of the river. It looked peaceful enough. In fact, it looked just the same as it did here on the New Mexico side. The rocks were the same bleached tan color. The shrub brush was still the same brown scraggly thing that somehow survived despite the heat; hell, even the water was the same semi-murky color as it trickled along.

“Once we cross to that side, Kid, we are likely to be watched. They will know where we are headed soon enough and we will never know that they were there. They will know we’re coming and they’ll be waiting on us when we get there, understand?” Mats glanced over and Julian nodded, though he looked more uncomfortable than he did a moment ago. “Then let’s mount up and get this over with.”

Mats took the reigns for Paa-puuku and put his foot into the stirrup. He took a long drink of his own from one of the canteens he had as he watched Julian mount up again. He bottled the flask and then adjusted his seat before he looked back at the Kid.

“One last thing.”

“Yes?” Julian asked, looking uncomfortable. Mats stared him in the eye as he spoke.

“Don’t make me regret bringing you instead of somebody else.”

Mats kept the eye contact with the Kid for another moment or two before he nudged Paa-puuku forward and the horse effortlessly stepped over the rocks and into the water of the Gila River. Julian followed behind him and Mats led the way to the other side. Nothing changed as they left the water, which was shallow enough it barely came up to their horses’ ankles, and Mats started through the canyon towards The Mountain. He didn’t expect anything to happen, like an ambush, immediately if it came at all. That didn’t mean he wasn’t going to be ready for it just in case.

They followed the river into the Territory for a while before Mats continued straight away from it, letting the river flow northwards to, what he already knew to be, what would turn into a large canyon. The Apache liked to hide there too, but he wasn’t crazy enough to wander into there without a damn good reason. It was bad enough he was going to speak to the chief of one section of the Apache tribe; it didn’t do well to mix with another group of them altogether that not even Cochise had any little, if any, control over.

They rode straight ahead away from the river for a good long while before the ground sloped downwards and flattened completely. It was there, over the crest of the last hill, that they could see the Mountain rise up ahead in the distance of the horizon. Mats stopped a moment, looking at it to see if a band of Apache were already waiting at the base of it. Sometimes they came down and would guard one of their most sacred places in a long line of horseback warriors. It was intimidating to say the least. They weren’t there today, Mats was relieved to see. Relieved in part, worried in another; if they weren’t down there, it meant they were up in the rocks somewhere, or worse, anywhere else in the area.

Julian was too busy staring at the mountain that had just appeared out of seemingly no where.

“Never seen a mountain before, Kid?” Mats asked as he started forward again. Julian came up along side of him and they continued on their way, slower this time. No one with any mischief in their heart would creep their way across the Apache territory; they would haul ass to get out of there as quickly as possible.

“Of course I have,” Julian replied defensively before he softened. “They just weren’t out in the middle of a desert.”

Mats shook his head and he shifted in his saddle. His back was playing up the way it always did after a long ride. He wasn’t going to show any weakness now though. The Indians would smell it out like a hound after blood and he wasn’t going to appear weak in the eyes of them, or in front of the Kid. That didn’t mean once the sun went down that he wouldn’t have to rub his back or consider breaking into that bottle of whiskey he had stowed away in his bag for ‘emergencies’.

“One of these days you will need to tell me about that place you come from.” Mats replied, just for something to say to distract him from the throbbing ache that was in his lower back.

“I’d love to. But can we do it when we aren’t about to be hunted down or worse?” Julian asked, looking about as uncomfortable as Mats had ever seen him. The Kid had a nice sunburn going and he was definitely going to know about that for a few days. 

“We won’t be hunted down.” Mats replied with the confidence of a man who knew his subject. “They wouldn’t have to do that. They’d just wait till we either ran out of water, got separated, or got lost in the desert. Then all they would have to do is walk up to you and kill you. Watching us do it to ourselves would be enough for them.”

Julian remained quiet for so long that Mats glanced over at him. When he had the sheriff’s eye contact, Julian replied. “Thanks for that. I feel a lot better now.”

“It’s the truth, Kid. The West isn’t a place for the faint of heart. You should know that by now.” Mats replied with the Mountain looming ever-closer as they continued on their way.

“Maybe I should go home then.” Julian replied, very quietly.

Mats had thought about that before. He didn’t know a lot about the Kid’s past, having chalked it up to not really having a need to learn about it. All he had was the way Julian presented and carried himself in Sundance and it wasn’t too bad. The Kid wasn’t as condescending as some East Coaster’s that Mats had met before. The Kid seemed to have a genuine desire to help people and he did know what was right and what was wrong; he even seemed to have a grasp of that gray area. That was good enough for Mats, so he allowed the Kid to remain his deputy.

He never really considered the possibility that maybe, just possibly, that Julian could be homesick. He never asked why the Kid had moved all the way to the West without mentioning a family, a wife or something else back in Pennsylvania or wherever. It just wasn’t something that Mats thought about. He realized now that maybe he should probably ask one day what Julian’s exact background was. Maybe he could learn a few things about the Kid. But that would have to wait. They may not even get the chance to have that particular conversation, Mats thought as they entered the rockier foothills of the Mountain.

If they died that afternoon, what difference did it make if Julian still had a family back home? Neither of them would know a thing about it ever again if they were gone. Sure, their families would mourn, but they wouldn’t have anything to do for it. They would be dead.

Mats looked up at the giant behemoth of a mountain in front them. Over ten thousand feet into the air, it wasn’t glossed with snow this time of year, but Mats had heard stories about such a thing in the winter time. How something could have _snow_ on it in the desert was something he wasn’t sure he could believe. How could he when it was over one hundred degrees out now? It was too hot to believe in a mythical thing such as snowflakes right now.

“What now?” Julian asked once they stopped again and Mats had just been considering just that. He hadn’t seen any scouts or anyone tailing after them, which wasn’t a good sign if Cochise was present at the Mountain.

Mats shook his head and he led the way around the Mountain towards the north a bit. They rode at the foothills, where the ground was mostly still flat but occasionally was rockier than the rest of their surroundings. They patrolled the edge of the mountain and almost got to the curve of the slight-oval shaped mountain before Mats stopped them again. This time they were not alone.

Waiting for them at the tip of the oval was a band of Apache-dressed warriors on their horses. They were all staring at Mats and Julian. He wasn’t sure, and he would never ask because it wouldn’t really matter in the hours following that moment, but Mats was pretty sure he heard Julian gulp.


	4. A Conversation with the Chief

The trail up to the top of the Mountain was one Mats had only ever travelled on perhaps twice before. It was not a common route at all for a white man; fewer who went up ever came back down again, alive. As they climbed in elevation, the hot air slowly began to recede back to a more manageable level, though it was still very warm. Mats rode in front, Julian was immediately behind, and they were surrounded by the Apache warriors as they horse-marched them up the side of the Mountain.

From his previous visits to the Indians, Mats knew that the one leading the group that they were in now was called Kuruk and that he wasn’t as kind towards Americans the way Cochise was. Cochise, who only had one white friend in Tom Jeffords. One.

Mats dusted the anxiety he usually felt whenever he would have to come deal with the Indians away and they rode across the grass-covered trail up until the settlement of Apache Indians made itself known to them, near the top of the mountain. A whole band of braves had settled there, but this time Mats noticed a few women were around too. That wasn’t quite as normal; he knew a little of the Apache lifestyle and therefore it didn’t make much sense that for a group of warriors to be in one of the most sacred, and best hiding and ambush, places to the Apache that they would bring their women, but he didn’t get a chance to question it further because they stopped.

Then Mats saw why and he swallowed hard. _Oh, shit._

Not only was the Mountain a sacred place for the Indians and a place to hide out and ambush stragglers who were stupid enough to wander through this part of the Arizona Territory without a guard or in the Calvary, but it was a place of healing and spiritual worship as well. The Apache, and other tribes in the area, considered the Mountain to be where the Gods would come amongst their people and heal them.

So when Mats saw Cochise, resting in the shadows of the pine trees near the summit of the mountain, Mats had to rethink his entire strategy altogether. He knew the chief was old, but he hadn’t really considered just how old before until he saw him then. He looked frailer than the last time Mats had seen him, but he still was as intimidating as ever. So long as he could give orders, then he was still a threat. If Cochise couldn’t wield a spear against an intruder, he could still give the order for his warriors to do so for him. That would be enough.

Mats dismounted when he was given the order to with Julian. They didn’t have much choice either way, especially not after Kuruk gave the order for another of the braves to take the reigns to their horses and led them away from the group. Mats didn’t look behind him to see if Julian looked afraid or not; he just hoped the Kid could pull a decent poker face and not give them away. _Please don’t make me regret choosing you_ , Mats thought while he was pushed and prodded towards the chief.

At the bottom of the Mountain he had told Kuruk what he wanted, a parlay to speak to the chief and that was all. Kuruk had taken some convincing and they had been forced to leave their guns behind. All of them. Mats hoped they were still there when they got back. Kuruk had left someone to watch them, he said, and Mats didn’t know enough of the Apache language to say whether or not that was in fact what he had told the one still several thousand feet below them at the bottom of the Mountain.

Cochise did not stand in Mats presence, not that the sheriff expected him to. They simply watched one another. Mats determined eyes met the Indian’s tired, wary filled eyes. Mats could only imagine what the Apache chief had seen in his lifetime. Bloodshed at the hands of Mats’ people and the United States Government for simply having land that the government wanted to own. Raids, attacking villages in retaliation. All over land. Mats couldn’t fathom it. And, in some ways, he did not blame the chief for being wary of white men after that. Mats did not blame him at all.

Cochise then turned his gaze away from the Sheriff and the tin-star pinned to his chest and focused his attention on the boy standing behind Mats. Mats suppressed the urge to close his eyes and grimace as the chief studied the deputy. His gaze did not linger on Julian long before he looked over to one of the other warriors, Mats did not know that one’s name but had seen him before, and said something in their native language which caused not only the warrior but several others, including some of the women, to break out into a peal of laughter.

Julian whispered from behind Mats’ shoulder and Mats wanted to wince even more after he heard what he was asked. “Does he speak English?”

Mats did not look over his shoulder, simply called back slightly and barely moved his lips to answer the question. “Better than you.”

That wasn’t quite true, but it was enough to shut Julian up for the time being. Mats then refocused his hundred-percent attention on the chief and waited to be addressed by the legendary man who had fought for so long against being moved towards a reservation, towards the murder of his people, and fought for the land in which the Apache had owned for hundreds of years.

“Why do you come here, Indaa?” Cochise asked, addressing him by the word that they used for a white person. Mats did know that much about their language. It is what he was called any time he had ever spoken to the chief.

Mats held his hands out to the side to show he meant no harm and then gestured towards a rock in front of the shady part where Cochise was sitting beneath the trees. He gave a look that suggested ‘may I?’ and the chief nodded. Mats sat down on the rock and placed his hands on his thighs, while the warriors around him seemed to relax. Julian remained standing behind where Mats was sitting and the sheriff did not look back at him to make sure he was still looking the part. He wanted to make sure that they gave an image of unity, not one where Mats was trying to play the superior to a new employee who knew nothing about Indians.

“I came to ask you a few questions, if you don’t mind.” Mats replied calmly, as calmly as he could given the circumstances.

“About?” the chief asked and Mats wondered about the state of his health again. He was definitely not going to ask things that would start up anything, especially not if the chief was unwell. He wasn’t going to risk hurting the old man in a way that would cause him to be helped on into the afterlife and risk the retaliation of the next Apache chief.

But how did one ask the questions Mats needed to ask without inciting an upset on the part of the Indians? He was going to insinuate that they had been stealing cattle from ranchers. He didn’t have any proof about it, only the word of one rancher. How did he not start something with a few questions like that? _By implying someone else did it_ , he thought and cleared his throat a little.

“We’ve heard word that a few of the ranchers’ cattle have gone missing. I wondered if you knew if any of the Mexicans were doing that kind of thing or if we just have a thief back in town.” Mats started and he kept eye-contact with the chief. He wasn’t going to be branded a coward in the eyes of the other man.

“You think we did it, Indaa.” Cochise replied after a moment. _Damn._ But Mats wasn’t going to appeared shaken by the honesty and the way that Cochise had read through him effortlessly as though he were a handbill open and ready for the viewing.

“Did you?”

He heard a ripple go through the band of braves that surrounded them and Mats hoped he had not gone too far with that statement. Perhaps he had, but maybe he hadn’t. He waited for the chief to answer, but his son, Naiche, spoke to his father in their language. They spoke too fast for Mats to understand all of it, but the implication was clear. Mats was pushing his and Julian’s luck. Cochise silenced him with a look and a sharp word before the chief returned his eyes back to the sheriff of Sundance.

“No, we did not.” The man replied and Mats nodded. He didn’t think that the chief was necessarily lying to him, but he was pretty sure he could have been hiding something and therefore not be telling him the whole depth of what he knew either.

“Have you heard anything about such a theft?” Mats asked, hoping that he would at least have a lead, if nothing else, to go back to Sundance with.

Cochise shook his head. “No. But I will see if my Apache Brothers will know of something such as this. You should look to your own village to find your thief.”

“Are you saying it’s a white man doing the stealing?” Mats asked. That wouldn’t make any sense. Everyone in Sundance knew everyone else’s business; a secret like cattle theft wouldn’t sit well with any of the ranchers and no one would be stupid or brazen enough to do such a thing. _But Ballack hadn’t actually said he had seen the Indians stealing his cattle, only that they were around more and more often…_ And if ever there was a time to steal something and blame it on someone else, it would be when the Indians were around and everyone was feeling particularly trigger-happy. Mats’ detective’s brain was spinning. He had a few more questions for Michael Ballack now and he would have to take a look into those leads.

But first he had to get off of this mountain.

Mats nodded and then looked at the group of angry-faced men that surrounded their chief. He gave a nod of respect and thanked them in their language before he spoke in English again just in case and so that Julian would get the jist that they were about to be leaving soon.

“Well, thank you for your time. We should get going.” Mats replied, hopefully cheerfully enough to make an escape without incident. Cochise gave an order to Kuruk and then spoke about Mats and Julian in English.

“Indaa will be returned to the land below. They will go home.”

Mats nodded, but he really didn’t think he was being asked whether or not they would be going home so much as told that’s where they were headed. He didn’t immediately turn his back on Cochise, partially because he didn’t trust the other man and partially because it would be disrespectful. And you would have to be a damn fool to do either in front of most of an Apache tribe.

“Thank you for speaking with me, Cochise.” Mats replied, twisting the brim of his hat in his fingers again. “Please keep an eye out for my thief if anybody that doesn’t belong wanders over the River and into your land.”

Cochise smiled a little then, but it was not a friendly smile nor was it a mean one. “To me, Indaa, none of you belong here.”

Mats nodded once and Naiche looked as if he would like nothing better than to run Mats through with his spear, so Mats thought against saying anything else potentially inflammatory.

“I hope you feel better soon.” Mats replied and then started to follow Kuruk out of the encampment with Julian quickly following behind.

They were lead down the mountain much the same way they had come up it: in silence and surrounded by Apache warriors on horseback. Only this time, Mats anxiety was quickly fading and it had been replaced with suspicion of his own townspeople. He wasn’t quite so sure why he believed Cochise, but he didn’t think the Indian chief had been lying about the fact that they hadn’t stolen any of the cattle from the Ballack ranch.

Why would they? They had their own means of surviving, even with the US government’s interference. They had buffalo and fish in the Gila to survive on. They were not perhaps as successful as they had once been, but they were not starving like some of the horror stories Mats had heard about the Choctaw and the Cherokee to the northeast. But the Apache were not on a reservation yet either, yet. It would only be a matter of time, and they knew that, no matter what Cochise or his son believed. Mats had heard of the Government breaking their own treaties with the Indians too many times. He shook his head. That was another debate for another day; another great speech by a politician up for reelection in a Territory he knew little to nothing about. That wasn’t his business.

Right now his business was to get him and Julian back on the New Mexico side of the Territory before nightfall, and the rate they were going, they would be lucky to accomplish it. He wasn’t about to dare sleep in Apache territory if Cochise was sick, no matter what the man had ordered for him and his deputy.

Kuruk stopped them at their pile of arms and weaponry. Mats glanced at it and made sure it was all there. Then he checked the position of the sun in the sky and guessed that it was around four o’clock. He and the Kid could make it to the river before the sun set, but they wouldn’t make it back to Sundance until after three in the morning if they rode straight through. He wasn’t going to do that. Paa-puuku and Moonstar had already had a hell of a long day of travel and the Kid looked about as though he could pass out at any given moment; he probably would have if he didn’t look too busy being afraid by being surrounded by Natives. Mats wanted to shake his head or at least laugh a little, but he wasn’t going to. He was tense as well, and he knew it.

“Thank you, Kuruk.” Mats replied once their captor had stopped them at the bottom of the mountain.

The other man simply crossed his arms over his chest and was glaring at Mats, as if he were waiting for the sheriff and his deputy to make tracks. Well, he wasn’t going to complain. He nodded to Julian, picked up their weapons as carefully and unthreateningly as possible before they remounted their horses and started, at a walk, towards the river where they would then head east.

Once they were several yards away from the group of Indians, still obviously staring after them, Julian leaned closer to Mats and spoke in a very soft tone.

“Is it wise to leave with our backs turned towards them?” His tone was shaky, unlike his detached Eastern accent from up north or wherever he came from.

“Nope.” Mats replied simply enough. “Don’t have a choice though, so back to them it is.”

Julian sighed but he nodded and travelled along next to Mats. The sun was hot on their backs as it started to slowly head for the horizon. By Mats’ estimating, there would be at least four more hours of daylight left. Enough to get to the New Mexico side and put up a camp. There was another option, Mats thought and he considered letting Julian make the choice. He would be content enough to make camp but perhaps the Kid would prefer the alternative?

He waited until they had reached the river and had turned east before he addressed it.

“There’s a mine in Richmond, on the border of the Territories. Before that there’s a hole in the wall called Duncan. Want to stop there for the night or make camp in the mountains?” Mats asked without looking over. God, his back was really starting to kill him. Maybe a night in a bed instead of on the ground would be the better option…

Julian frowned a little, still shaken from the encounter that they went all the way out there for, and he asked. “Isn’t that the small town still in Arizona on the other side, well, _this_ side of the river?”

“Yes, it is.” Mats replied. “What’s it matter?”

Mats looked over then and Julian shook his head. “It doesn’t really. All the same to you, I would rather be on our side of the river instead of theirs, if you know what I mean.”

Mats nodded once and continued riding along the river. So a camp in the mountains it would be then. “Yeah, Kid, I have a feeling that I do know. And for the record,” Mats looked over at him again then, “I’m proud of you. You didn’t shit yourself, which is always a good sign.”

He grinned when Julian’s cheeks reddened a little at the praise. “I would not have done that. I’m just glad I didn’t have to stand. My bones would have rattled in my boots.”

Mats laughed a little then, more out of the release of his tension and anxiety than of actual humor as they rode along. “Be glad, Kid. Cochise has settled way down. Back in the day, he used to be a real spirited bastard. That son of his is just like he was when he was younger.”

“His son?” Julian asked and Mats forgot that the Kid didn’t know anything about Apache.

“The one that was talking to him when Kuruk, who led us down the mountain, was busy glaring at us. The one that was next to Cochise a lot.” Mats retried again when Julian didn’t look understanding enough. Finally, the Kid nodded.

“I didn’t know he had children.” Julian replied, just for something to say.

“There’s probably a lot you don’t know, Kid. But that’s where we can teach you. As long as you can and are willing to learn, I don’t mind explaining myself.” Mats replied and they continued riding away from the giant shadow of the Mountain behind them.

They lapsed into a silence again and Mats was all right with that. They would refresh their canteens at the river and then head north a bit into the New Mexico territory where they would stop for the night in the scrub of the mountains. It wouldn’t be the most comfortable thing, sleeping in the canyon, but as long as they didn’t run into any rattler’s or a scorpion, Mats would be okay with it. He just hoped Julian wouldn’t freak out if he saw one.

But something new in his mind reassured the sheriff that if anything unsavory crossed Julian’s path, the Kid would be able to handle it. And it was then that a small seed of prideful respect began to grow in Mats’ heart for his deputy.


	5. Fireside Conversation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so this is a long chapter lol In it, there's some backstory, a mystery, and a history lesson or two. Apologies, if you already knew some of the stuff in there and if not, well, then sorry-not-sorry, I adore history and it's interesting to me. lol More history will come later (in the form of the answer to the mystery) and I'm really looking forward to that part.
> 
> If you're still with me at this point, I do appreciate it. I really do. This isn't most people's cup of tea, I think, so it means a lot more to me that you've chosen to read it ♥ With all that being said, here's another chapter for you :D

Their camp was set up on the cliffs of one of the unnamed mountains that overlooked the Arizona Territory. They hadn’t gotten as far as Mats would have liked for the night, but he was tired and he wasn’t going to push Julian any more today. The Kid had done well, he had told him as much, and they could rest for the night. He just felt bad living Philipp in charge of everything for another day. He could handle it though, Mats thought and took comfort in that.

A small campfire was going, nestled in a circle of rocks with some twigs and brush that Mats had scraped up to light up. A pot of coffee was currently being warmed over it and their dinner had been that of a few biscuits and some salted ham that Philipp’s wife, Claudia, had made for them that Philipp had given them before they had left.

“What are those?” Julian asked, interrupting the quiet of the night, and he pointed to a pattern on the rocks. Mats did not have to even look over to see what the other man was looking at.

“Cave-paintings. Been there for a thousand years or more.” Mats was chewing on a piece of straw as he overlooked the ledge of the cliff and the valley beyond. The firelight was dimming his senses a bit, but the moon was bright enough that he could see across the plains and hills that they had crossed as they had turned north away from the river.

“Who made them?” Julian asked, getting up to go take a closer look at one as best he could in the dark. He couldn’t see much, but he could see enough to make out a crude painting of a man and a horse. It was fascinating.

“Probably Cochise’s ancestors back in the day.” Mats replied as he shifted to find a more comfortable spot. He was going to need a soak in Lewandowski’s tub to ease the tension and the ache when he got back. Maybe Marco could join him, he thought absently, as he rubbed his back with his hand. It really was getting to be too much, he thought with a sigh of age and discomfort. “Most likely them, or a nomadic Pueblo tribe.”

The second was less likely as Mats knew but he shrugged it off. Apache had been in this area since before any white man or Spaniard had come to claim the land for their own a few hundred years back. Julian probably didn’t care about the history of the land around these parts. Technically it wasn’t their jurisdiction, so Mats really shouldn’t have to care much either. However, that would be stupid not to know the ground that surrounds your place and who didn’t mind learning about where they now called their home?

But he had never been that way, and he doubted that would start now. He remembered the Indians of his North Texas home, the Comanche, and how things hadn’t always gone so smoothly with them. But they told great stories, and sometimes, when things were peaceful enough between the white settlers and the Indians, they would trade. The settlers for seeds and tools that would help them survive, and the Indians would get whiskey and, in even rarer circumstances, weapons or ammunition. Though, that was before the War when the regulations weren’t quite as strictly kept-to because of the chaos that was Mexico-run Texas.

Mats didn’t remember much of those days when he was young. He remembered the later parts of the war against the Mexicans, but he was born ten days before the famed Mister Austin died and that led to the craziness in the years afterward. His mama had tried to keep him and his brother, Jonas, out of it while Hermann, his father, had gone off to fight for the admittance of Texas into the United States government and out of the clutches of Mexican hands. She had done well enough, but that was on one front. The Indians were at the back door, while the Mexican army was almost at the front.

Mats never really forgot the day the letter came when he was eleven and Jonas was nine from their father who told their mother that everything was going to be all right and that they could stay. The war was almost over and everything would be just fine. Well, Hermann had been correct. The war between the US and Mexico had been over in under two years, Texas was a recognized state and some place called Alta California was also created, but not everything was all right as his father had promised.

Hermann had died from his wounds sustained at the battle of Chapultepec, a few months before the war was declared over.

It was from that day forward that Mats became the reluctant man around the house and his mama had never quite recovered from the loss. Jonas, always the more sensitive of the two of them, took excellent care of their mother while Mats worked hard on the ranch and earned the family money, listening to the stories of the Mexicans that also worked on the ranch as they talked about their beliefs and the Spaniards. He also listened to the Indians any time he ran across them in the pastures of their land while they crossed the plains as they had done for a hundred years before anyone interfered.

Mats liked stories. He liked the ones about heroes and the bad guys, or the stories that took a setting in places that couldn’t possibly exist. Mountains as high as the sky that were forever covered in snow, or forests of trees so thick you couldn’t cut through them with a scabbard could not exist, but oh, how Mats wanted them to. His young boy’s imagination went wild any time he heard one of the Mexican farmhands tell him about birds with so many colors in their feathers that you couldn’t count them all, or frogs so dangerous you couldn’t even touch them.

A few of the Comanche had interesting stories too, about spirits in the sky and how those who pass away never truly leave the Earth and could be called back if needed. Mats thought about his father less and less as the years went on, but he did still think of him. He wondered now if the man that had died in Mexico would think proudly of his son or would he be ashamed? Mats never lingered on thoughts like that. He didn’t want to. After all, who would want to linger on a thought as sad and depressing as being a failure to someone, least of all your parents?

Mats pushed it aside and he made out a few of the constellations in the sky. He always did that on clear nights when there weren’t any towns or anything nearby like trees or hills to get in the way of the beautiful night sky. He had known the stars and their patterns from his boyhood; his father had taught him that. The simple comfort of knowing Orion’s belt from Pegasus was peaceful enough that it soothed his mind if he was ever too stressed about something. And he had known stress in his lifetime.

“Why did you move out here, Kid?” Mats asked suddenly, looking back to the fire and away from the sky. He was trying to distract himself from the throbbing in his lower back and the introspective turn his thoughts had taken. He didn’t have enough whiskey to drown everything and he could use the conversation as a temporary balm to his turbulent mind. “Why New Mexico of all places?”

Mats watched as his deputy tore his eyes away form the glyphs on the rocks and both of his eyebrows were raised. Mats had asked him before, on the ride north from Silver City, what his name was, where he came from, and what qualifications he had for being a deputy. Julian hadn’t really thought he had listened to his answers and he had confirmation of that multiple times since he had moved here a few months ago.

For a start, Mats and the others kept calling him ‘the Kid’. That wasn’t too bad, he thought, but it was annoying since he was almost twenty-six. The lack of facial hair he could grow probably didn’t help anything, he thought absently. He could not grow a beard to save his life, and it seemed like all the men in Sundance had a beard or at least the scruff or shadow of one. He had neither and he didn’t know why. Julian just chalked it up to extra money he could save on not having to constantly go to the barber’s shop. He could live with ‘the Kid’ as a nickname, even if it did get on his nerves after a while. He just would never show it.

Secondly, Mats and the others as a result, seemed to think he was from Pennsylvania. That wasn’t the case. He had only been educated at the University of Princeton, having not grown up in Pennsylvania at all, only attended educational institutions there. However, Mats seemed hung up on this. At first, Julian had thought he was joking when he had mentioned it, but as Julian’s days had stretched out over the weeks and months since his arrival, he realized it wasn’t a joke. Mats really did think he was from Pennsylvania.

And lastly, Julian had to prove that he did, in fact, know how to use a gun several times in the first few weeks that he had been in Sundance. First, Mats wanted to see how good of a shot he was. Julian figured that was a fair enough test. After all, who would want a deputy that was shit at hitting a target? Second, apparently one of the brawler’s in Lewandowski’s hadn’t thought the new Kid on the block was kidding when Julian had said ‘hands up or I’ll shoot’ and he found out the hard way that Julian was a crack shot and hit the guy square in the gun arm’s shoulder. Julian still hadn’t seen anyone drop a gun so fast in all his life.

“Are you actually going to listen to me this time?” Julian asked as he moved away from the cave paintings and sat on the rock near the fire and the now-ready container of coffee. Mats’ face was half-hidden in the shadow of the campfire but Julian still didn’t miss the slight tilt of his head and level look the sheriff gave him directly in the eyes. _God, his eyes were darker in the light of a blazing fire_ , Julian thought absently.

“Just cause I said you did a good job earlier, doesn’t mean you can get cocky, deputy.” Mats replied, but Julian heard the humor and the warning mix in his voice. _Don’t tempt me, Kid._ He was saying and the implication was clear enough to Julian without it having to be spelled out. _I’ll let you have some more slack in the rope I give you, but don’t tie a hangman’s knot with what I let you do or say. I still know how to let you hang on your own if you cross a line._

With that being realized, Julian still didn’t apologize. Instead, he answered Mats’ question.

“I didn’t pick New Mexico so much as it picked me.” Julian replied and let the words hang there for a moment, long enough so that he could look out over the cliff’s edge and see the giant expanse of black sky speckled with stars. They were beautiful. Many times, he liked to just leave the few city lights of Sundance and wander out beyond the glow of the lights to see the sky lit up with nothing more than the moon and the diamonds of the stars. He would never forget about them, even if he ever did go back East. Nothing would ever be enough to replace the beautiful night sky of the Territory. Nothing.

The sheriff stayed quiet so Julian continued, with a shrug.

“I finished school back East and I had gone home to—”

“To Pennsylvania,” Mats nodded, as if he was correct and Julian sighed. He was going to set that straight for the umpteenth time.

“I am from Maine, actually.”

Mats paused then, his entire body went stoically straight and stiff and Julian wondered about that. It took him a moment, but Mats finally came out of it, nodding a little to himself and making a half-grunt as if something clicked into place in his head. Julian had heard that grunt before, usually when Mats had been investigating some complaint for one of the ranchers or business-owners and he had discovered an important piece of evidence. He wondered what on Earth Mats had learned about him from that statement.

“Maine, you say? That explains it.” Mats replied, quietly and Julian wasn’t quite sure what to say to that. Mats had changed from being curious about Julian’s choice of Territory for a deputy to looking as if he had either seen a ghost or gone back somewhere in the depths of his mind. Not for the first time, Julian wondered more about his boss. He didn’t know that much about the sheriff either.

“Explains what?” Julian asked in a whisper. He wasn’t one hundred percent convinced he wanted to know, but the hell with it, he was going to ask.

“Why I didn’t remember you was from there and why I wanted you to be from Pennsylvania or some place else.” Mats replied, chewing on his piece of straw and Julian was still confused. “Your daddy, did he fight in the War?”

Julian shook his head. “No. We had a couple cousins, I think, but none of my immediate family did. Why?”

Mats turned his head, the shadow of the fire swallowed more of his jawline in shadow again and Julian wasn’t afraid, per se, but he wasn’t comfortable either. Something was amiss, but he didn’t know what.

“Few men around here had the luxury of not fighting. That’s another reason people don’t like you; you’re a Northerner, any time you open your mouth, we can tell it.” Mats looked away and poured himself another cup of coffee. Julian had the distinct feeling that something was going to be set between them, regardless of the direction this conversation went.

He had felt as though they had bonded earlier in the day; the fact that he hadn’t gone crazy in the presence of Indians had impressed Mats in some way, but the location of his home state had also set them back a few steps. Julian wasn’t sure why. Sure, he was a Yankee in the eyes of these people, but so what? The War had been over for over seven years, almost eight, now. Were people really still holding that much of a grudge? Even _here_? In the western Territories? Was Mats going to hold that against him? If he was, why now? What had changed? The sheriff had known from the start that Julian was from the North and never had seemed to have a problem with it until this moment. So his sudden change in demeanor did not make any sense whatsoever.

“I know that. What difference does that make now? And why bring up the War when you found out what state I’m from?” Julian asked his thoughts aloud, watching as Mats took a sip of the coffee.

“No reason. Move on, Kid. Why New Mexico?” Mats changed the subject but Julian was more confused than ever. It was clearly a big deal to the sheriff. He still didn’t want to push the other man though; who was to say that Mats wouldn’t just ride off and leave him in the middle of the desert in the middle of the night if he was mad enough?

For the time being, Julian decided to in fact let it go. He could ask around town and perhaps someone would know why Mats was ever-so-elusive about Maine. Maybe one day Mats would tell him himself, but he doubted it. Julian could always ask Erik. The kid in the stable seemed to be friendlier towards him than most of the others in Sundance. Having that plan in mind, Julian shrugged off the awkwardness of the moment and finished what he was going to say earlier.

“So I was at home in Maine,” Julian subtly stressed the state’s name again and watched Mats’ reaction as he stiffened again. There definitely was something about Maine, he thought but pushed it aside. It could wait. “And I was working on my father’s farm when I saw an add in the newspaper from Portland. They were asking about policemen for the city. Portland wasn’t that far away so I went and applied and that’s how I moved to Portland. My mother was not happy about that at _all_ , let me tell you. Anyway, I worked for the police there for a while before I saw another advertisement looking for people to come out West and,” Julian shrugged there, “I figured why not.”

“Carpetbaggers.” Mats said the word before he spit on the ground, near a rock by the fire. Julian had heard the term before, never said with any trace of kindness in the Southerner’s accents. The term ‘carpetbagger’ went hand in hand with phrases like ‘Yankee’ or even ‘Damn Yankees’ and Julian tried to keep his mouth shut as much as possible and not provoke anyone as he had travelled South and then East, first across Virginia and then further, into the Carolinas and Georgia until he had arrived in Texas.

“I applied in Austin for the Marshall’s or the Rangers, but they said I was too young and so they sent me here instead to get some experience.” Julian shrugged and Mats laughed a little at that. But it wasn’t his normal laugh; it was the one he shared with Philipp or even some of the ranchers when they were talking about ‘the old days’ or whenever Mats started a story with ‘back home in Texas…’ Julian had learned it was his laugh when he thought something was a little funny, but mostly bittersweet or sadness tainted the humor of the memory.

Not for the first time that night, Julian asked again. “What?”

Mats seemed a bit more cheerful about this conversation, though he did not quite explain fully. He did look at Julian again, this time more contemplative. “The Rangers are a rowdy bunch, but effective. And you are too young for a Marshall, but I could see it one day if you don’t get shot.”

“Why do you always think I’m going to get shot?” Julian asked. This was another thing he often was teased about. “I _do_ know how to use a gun and defend myself.”

Mats nodded, humor trickling back into his voice. “Oh, I know you do. That doesn’t mean everybody does. And I said you’d get shot, I didn’t say with what. Could be a bow and arrow for all I know. And to answer your question, everybody in this job gets shot. Hell, even Philipp’s been shot before.”

“Even you?” Julian asked and that dark look from earlier crossed Mats face but it was gone quickly, swallowed by the bright light of the campfire as Mats shifted again, favoring his back like he always did.

“Even me.” Mats replied, though the humor was gone and the distance of his memories replaced it and Julian shook his head. He couldn’t wait to get back to Sundance and corner the stable boy for the answers to his questions. He hadn’t made a backup plan for what would happen if Erik didn’t have any of the answers he was looking for. He would find out, damn it.

“Time for bed, Kid. I want to get home before it gets hot tomorrow.” Mats tossed out the rest of the coffee he had not finished and he set the empty cup down as he began to cover the fire with sand.

“How much further till we get back?” Julian asked, moving over to his bedroll that he had already had laid out on the ground.

“Check for scorpions before you crawl in there.” Mats warned as he came over to his own bedroll to do the very same thing. Julian swallowed and carefully lifted the blanket to take a look. “Several hours as far as I reckon. We’ll take a short cut and go through the canyon instead of going around it.”

Julian nodded and he climbed under the blanket, happy that it was devoid of any stinging little creatures. He let out a long breath as he looked up to the stars. He heard Mats lay down next to him and he wondered about what they had talked about beside the fire, but more importantly, what they _hadn’t_ talked about.

What did Maine have to do with anything? Sure they had fought for the Union’s side in the War, but that was ages ago. And Julian hadn’t been a veteran of that war. He had been much too young for that. Had Mats though? Julian tilted his head and he studied the now-snoring sheriff. He wasn’t quite sure how much older Mats was than him, but he guessed at least ten years. If that was the case, and him being a Southerner, it stood to reason that Mats had fought in the War. It would also stand to reason that he had been a Confederate wearing the grey uniform.

Julian looked back to the stars. It would then be a logical deduction that Mats would hate Yankees and Carpetbaggers alike. But they had gotten along so well until then. What had changed? What was it about _Maine_?

The young man sighed and he closed his eyes, trying to piece it all together. He figured it had something to do with the War and not the fact that Julian was just a young kid from up North. That didn’t settle his mind very much as he went to sleep. For the first time since he had come to the West, Julian wondered very much about whether or not he should be concerned about his own boss shooting him in a fit of rage rather than how concerned he should be over being ambushed by an outlaw or attacked by an Indian.

He fell into a restless sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some things mentioned in case you'd like to know more:
> 
> 1\. [The Mexican-American War](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mexican%E2%80%93American_War) was a really short war but a decisive one in American history. It's also what made Texas become a state.
> 
> 2\. [Carpetbagger's](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Carpetbagger) or Carpetbagging was a frowned on practice where basically Northerners would come down to the war-ravaged South who would look for a profit to be made out of the land. The phrase 'Damn Yankee's' still lingers to this day ;)
> 
> 3\. [The War](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/American_Civil_War) mentioned is the epic American Civil War and it will be referred to again (hint, hint).
> 
> 4\. [The Texas Rangers](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Texas_Ranger_Division#History) are an actual thing. In real life. [And they had a very interesting lifestyle](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Texas_Ranger_Division#Old_West_image) to say the least.
> 
> 5\. [The Father of Texas](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Stephen_F._Austin) is the 'Famed Mr. Austin', Mats briefly mentioned.


	6. An Interesting Morning Indeed

The mouth of the canyon opened a few miles to the south of the Klinsmann ranch, which is where Mats and Julian came out at. They rode across the boundary of the man’s land and both of them noticed the emptiness of the pastures as they crossed the hilly ground on the way back towards town. From the way they were headed and that of the canyon, they would come up to town from the southwest.

“He must have begun his drive a little early this year.” Mats commented as they cut across the ground next to the fence that Jürgen had erected many years earlier when he first arrived in the Territory.

“Is that normal?” Julian asked. Already in the distance the tall roof of Lewandowski’s could be seen as the sun broke the horizon in front of them.

“It’s not unusual, just a little odd considering it’s early yet. I’m sure he has his reasons.” Mats shrugged and put it out of his mind as something to think about later because it wasn’t really that important. So what if Jürgen left a little early? He could be taking some of the profit from the sale and be going east to visit that friend of his in Houston like he did sometimes.

They rode in relative silence all the way back, partially because of the still-earliness of the hour, but also because of the underlying tension that had remained from the conversation from the night before. Mats knew he left the Kid with more questions than answers, but it just wasn’t his place to know about anything of his past yet. If ever. Julian was still a Northerner and he wouldn’t quite see the events of the War and how things had turned out the same way Mats had anyway. And since when was he trying to impress the Kid with his history anyway?

Mats shook it off and rode back into town. That bath was sounding even more excellent by the minute as his back had finally called the day in its favor. No amount of laying around or taking it easy was going to help until a long soak in a warm bath had worked its magic. A bath, Marco for company, and whiskey. Lots and lots of whiskey. The Kid could take care of things for a few hours until he recuperated, Mats decided and was about to tell the Kid as much when they arrived in town.

It was still early for everyone but a few people were up and at them. Some of the ladies curtsied for both of them as they rode past, careful not to stir up too much dust to get in anyone’s face. Both Mats and Julian tipped their hats at both of them, which they received in turn from the gentlemen that were going about their own business.

He thought about Marco as they road down the main street. He wasn’t stupid enough to fall in love with someone who willingly, and rather quite happily, sold their body for money and a roof over their head. Love, wasn’t part of their arrangement. Mats just liked a certain kind of companionship that Marco willingly provided, and while Marco did get paid for it, it wasn’t all the time and Mats knew the other man had a particular sense of sentiment for him, twisted as it was.

It was an odd arrangement to have, to say the least, but it worked.

Mats stopped his horse outside the giant inn and dismounted, groaning softly when he hit the ground. Fortunately Paa-puuku whinnied around the same time so that the Kid didn’t overhear him. Mats wasn’t sure if the Kid saw the grimace he had hidden under his arm as he dismounted; he hoped not. His back was killing him.

Julian looked at him with confusion on his face and Mats handed over his reigns.

“I’ll see you after a while. Make sure he,” Mats nodded towards his horse, “gets well taken care of.”

Julian nodded and, mercifully Mats thought, didn’t question his instructions. Mats watched both Moonstar and Paa-puuku leave and head towards the stables before Mats turned and walked into the quiet saloon.

It was still early enough where no one had stopped by for a drink or a meal yet. Some of the chairs were turned over and resting on the tables, the piano lid was closed over the keys, and no one was at the bar. Mats wandered over and put a silver coin on the counter top before he picked up a bottle of the finest, hardest liquor he could find and a glass and started for the stairs. He knew by heart by now which ones squeaked and were the ones to avoid, so he missed them easily enough. He also could find Marco’s room in the dark at this point for as many times as he had been in and out of it lately.

It was easy enough then to walk up the stairs and across the landing and push open Marco’s door. He wasn’t sure what he expected to find, but he guessed it would be Marco slept, half under the covers and half out, with his face as close as he could stretch it and still be comfortable near the window for air. It did get stuffy in that room in the middle of the night, Mats knew well enough by now. He shook off the thought of that and let his eyes adjust to the darkness of the dim light in the room.

When they had, he paused and felt annoyance and agitation cause his jaw to twitch and his grip on the doorknob to get a little tighter, to the point where his knuckles went white.

Marco wasn’t alone in his bed. He had companionship, a male companion at that.

Mats’ sense of observation was keen enough that he could recognize the occupant of the bed without looking him over too much. It wasn’t just the tanned back and curve of a narrow hip that had Mats recognizing the other man, but it was the half-hidden part of the face that he could see. He recognized one of Michael Ballack’s farmhands, Ozil, he thought the kid’s name was, easily enough and Mats shook his head before he turned and started to leave, spurs making a slight _clinking_ sound as he turned to leave.

He shut the door behind himself normally; not one to make a show, nor did he much care about waking the other two up. If he had stayed to linger and see if Marco woke up at the sound of his leaving, he would have heard a confirmation of that. But Mats was already on his way back down the stairs by the time Marco had stirred enough to call out to the dimly lit room with a soft, sleepy call of ‘Mats?’.

Mats arrived at the bottom of the stairs and picked up his silver coin from where it had remained untouched from where he had put it. He set the bottle and the glasses back down, but not before he had pulled the stopper from the whiskey bottle and took a long swig of it before he set it back down, not bothering with a glass or a shot.

“I hope you still plan on paying for that.” A voice called from the dark, near the back room where Mats knew Satan Bob kept his office and—most importantly—his safe.

“Of course.” Mats replied without looking over. He swapped his silver coin for a bronze one as he set the money down and gave a parting look to the proprietor of the saloon and the inn.

“Satan Bob.” Mats replied by way of acknowledging the man’s presence, but Robert didn’t seem content enough with that. Mats had long suspected the other man knew what the sheriff of Sundance was up to with one of his ‘employees’. Neither of them had ever before addressed the issue, though, and Mats was perfectly okay with that. He didn’t want to bring it up, especially not now. However, Satan Bob seemed to have the idea that it was a good a time as any to discuss the topic. So he did.

“You know, if you are in need of some…comfort…I could find someone…?”

“No thanks. And if you solicit me, I’m sure the Marshall would love to come down here and talk to you about it from behind the bars of my jail.” Mats replied, leveling the threat. Satan Bob knew he wouldn’t likely use it because Mats had already committed the crime he was supposed to be defending against; if he pressed the charges, then Satan Bob could accuse him and that would be more of a glimpse into that of Mats’ personal life than he cared to provide to anyone, especially the people of Sundance.

Needless to say, it was an empty threat, unless it became a problem. And the sheriff’s favorite being occupied with another man was definitely a problem.

“We don’t have to get the Marshall involved, do we, sheriff?” Robert replied warmly, saccharine in his tone and delivery. The Cajun roll of his words carried nicely and Mats could understand why Satan Bob had such a nickname; the silver tongue he learned the true talent of in New Orleans carried very nicely, very seductively out in the middle of the western territories. Robert was a charmer, a devil in his own right, and not just with the ladies…

For a moment, Mats wondered what he would be like to roll around in the sack with. Besides, it would serve Marco right for taking company with another man while he had expected Mats to be back that night and then had blatantly ignored that by going off with another man. Perhaps the revenge Mats could take out on him would be perfectly served if it was with his boss.

Mats dismissed the idea a second after he thought of it.

Robert was too unpredictable, a bit too unreadable for Mats’ purposes. He was already risking the fine line of blackmail now, he could only imagine what would happen if he actually went through with it and slept with Satan Bob for a fuck. That would not end well at all.

“We don’t as of yet,” Mats replied, staring into Robert’s eyes as they looked into his own. He kept his expression level and serious. As of yet. But he would, he promised with his eyes, if things got a bit too crazy or too high-spirited.

Robert nodded once and seemingly submitted to Mats authority, but his own gaze held a promise of his own. Try me, and see what happens. It was as plan as day, as if he had spoken out loud to the abandoned saloon. They were at a stalemate and one day one of them would react to the other and force the other’s hand. It was a gunfight, a showdown without any weapons raised, only the implications and subtle threats of action if there was a need for it. It was a polite war, a disagreement of ideologies and practices without the raised hands or pointed guns. Mats could accept that for now.

“I’m going to go back to my jail for a while. But before I do that,” Mats started, his back finally distracting him to the point where he couldn’t think straight. He couldn’t think about Satan Bob, Marco upstairs in bed with another man still, or the Indians and Ballack’s missing cattle. All was focused on his back. “Do you think you could run me a hot bath?”

Satan Bob smiled, his teeth showing a bit more than Mats felt was necessary. He looked wolfish and Mats felt as if he had lost the first skirmish in their battle against one another.

“As you like, Sheriff. Shall I send in someone to help you with the bath?” He asked casually enough, as if he could help Mats pick out a shirt for dinner the following night at the preacher’s house and not as if he had just offered a prostitute for Mats’ taking.

“I’ll be fine on my own, thanks.” Mats replied dryly as he followed Robert out towards the bathing rooms.

He distinctly heard the other man say with a cheerful disappointment in his voice. “Oh. What a pity.”

\---

Even Erik wasn’t awake when Julian returned to the stables with the horses. He shook his head when he saw the other boy dozing in the hayloft. He could understand the plight of having a good night’s rest, so he didn’t wake the boy and saw to Paa-puuku and Moonstar’s care himself. After all, he wasn’t an ignoramus, he knew how to handle horses a little. He was no Ranger or cavalry officer, but he still knew how to unsaddle and rub down a horse. Besides, if he woke up the other boy, Julian didn’t think he would fancy answering a bunch of questions about the sheriff’s personal life, either.

Julian put both of the horses into a separate empty stall and then unsaddled Moonstar first before he went to tend explicitly to Mats’ beloved pony first over his own. Julian was half-done seeing to his boss’ animal when he heard a rustling overhead coming from the hayloft and a muttered ‘shit’ before he heard and saw Erik practically fall out of the hayloft. Straw was sticking to every part of him, every which aways in his hair and on his clothes. He was cute, but Julian shook his head in amusement.

“Sorry. I didn’t hear you come in.” He replied sheepishly as he rubbed his neck. Julian saw the pink twinge in his cheeks. He felt like laughing, but again, he was out for answers and making the kid feel even more embarrassed probably wouldn’t really help him with that.

“That is okay. I was trying to be quiet, anyway. I didn’t want to disturb your rest.” Julian replied, finishing his brushing of the Comanche-named horse. He focused his attention on the bay-colored animal and heard Moonstar’s stall door be opened as Erik went inside to help out.

They worked in relative silence as they brushed, cleaned the hooves, and started to feed the animals. Julian found himself relaxed by the simple tasks and he could understand why Erik liked the quiet, calm nature of such a job. When they were both done, Julian took a seat in a chair while Erik sat on an over-turned bucket across the aisle from him and he began to carve on a piece of wood.

Julian remained quiet for a long while as he watched the other boy work as he fashioned the piece of pine into something; the deputy wasn’t quite sure what it would be yet.

“Why do you do this job?” The deputy asked to break the silence. Already the sun was getting the town a bit brighter as it began to climb higher in the sky for the day. “Do you like it?”

Erik looked up then, pausing in his carving. “Of course I like it. Why do you do what you do?”

Now there was a fair, and good, question to ask. Julian shook his head. “I asked first.”

Erik rolled his eyes and returned his attention back to his work. “I like doing this because I like the animals. Somebody needs to take care of them since they can’t take care of themselves. I’ve always been good with horses, and Mister Lahm likes me and gave me the job. Why wouldn’t I do this?”

Erik looked at him then and Julian shrugged. “Is this what you imagined yourself to be when you grew up?”

Julian wasn’t sure why this conversation had even started. Besides, it wasn’t even like he and the stable boy even spent much time together normally. This was probably the longest conversation he had ever had with him, never mind about something so personal as one’s hopes and dreams from youth.

“I don’t know. I knew I wasn’t smart enough for some things that people do, like that run the trains. I’ve seen a few of them before, in Silver City. They look like fun.” Erik smiled a little at that and Julian watched the other boy as the smile faded a little off of his face. “But that didn’t work out.”

“Why not?” Julian asked. The polite part of his mind was telling him to shut up, that it wasn’t any of his business. That he wasn’t going to like the answer the other boy gave no matter what it was. Things were different down here.

“I said. I’m not smart enough for that. And even if I was, we couldn’t afford it. I know my letters and I can read, that’s good enough for around here.” Erik shrugged and Julian’s conscious nagged at him ‘ _see? You didn’t like that answer._

Julian could remember his family and how they would have abhorred the thought of him becoming a train conductor. Hell, they still weren’t happy that he was a deputy for a sheriff in the West. They hadn’t been happy he had wanted to be a policeman. A doctor, a businessman, or a lawyer is what had been expected of him in the Draxler household. He had only been slightly regretful of disappointing them all when he had joined the Portland police force.

The thought of home reminded him why he had still lingered around the stables after they had finished with the horses. Before he could find a way to ask about Mats’ personal life, Erik interrupted his thoughts.

“Why are you so curious anyway? What did you want to be?” Erik asked, looking at him again. In his hand, the pine branch was taking the shape of a horse; Julian could recognize the outline of it now.

Julian shrugged and spoke the truth very quietly, a truth he hadn’t told anyone much, ever. “I wanted to go to the moon.”

Erik didn’t laugh the way Julian half-expected him to. Nor did he ask ‘why would you want to do a dumb thing like that, stupid?’ the way he had been told before when he was little. Erik did seem to consider it for a moment before he shrugged and went back to whittling the branch.

“Moon’s a pretty place to be, I guess it makes sense.” Erik replied and continued to work on the horse. In that moment, out of respect for not thinking he was foolish idiot, Julian decided to stay quiet. His curiosity was still burning but he decided it didn’t matter as much. He didn’t need to ask Erik the answers to his questions. He could find out from another source, like Mats himself when the time was right. His patience would be the reward of the answer, he thought as he stood up.

“Well, I will leave you to your work.” Julian replied cheerfully and brushed off his pants. No matter where he went in this Territory, dust seemed to follow him everywhere and it clung to everything.

Erik nodded and looked up again, smile in place. “All right then. See you around, deputy.”

“Please, call me Julian.” Julian replied, really hoping he would. At least someone would, if Erik did. He wouldn’t be ‘the Kid’, or ‘deputy’ or the not-nice names the Southerners still called Northerners behind their backs, or even the more brazen to their faces. He really hoped he hadn’t sounded like he was begging when he spoke.

“Okay. See you around, Julian.” Erik smiled again and Julian returned it.

The deputy nodded and left the stables as he headed back for the jail. He could use some more coffee. He wondered when Mats would be back and if he would be in a better mood. The sheriff had been grumpy all morning, especially last night. At first, Julian had thought it was because of the awkward conversation the night before and also about the encounter with the Apache, but now he wasn’t sure. He had been rubbing his back more and more often lately…

His thoughts propelled him right through the front door where Philipp was sat in Mats’ chair. Julian smiled a little at the smaller man and the other man shook his head, finally coming to attention from where he had been reading the paper. He set it down and looked at the deputy who had started for his own desk.

“Was wondering when y’all were coming back.” Philipp stood and stretched. “Thought Cochise might have shot you.”

“Not this time.” Julian replied, “sorry to disappoint.”

“Wouldn’t have disappointed me, Kid.” Philipp replied. “Everybody gets shot at least once around here.”

“That’s what Mats said last night.” Julian replied, taking a seat in his chair and he was surprised when he heard Philipp start to laugh at some joke in his head. “What? What did I say that was so amusing?”

“Nothing, Kid.” Philipp replied with a smile as he took off the tin star on his shirt. “Just if anybody would know anything about getting shot, it would be our dearly beloved Sheriff.”

Julian didn’t get the chance to ask as a fight started in the street outside the jail and the voices were headed right for it. What was even more surprising than the fact there was a fight going on, but who the voices belonged to. One was as familiar as the other, one even more so. Philipp swore and said something like ‘not again’ before he pinned the star back to his shirt. Julian groaned as he stood up, cursing the fact he had _just_ sat down. 

Both the stable owner and the official deputy of Sundance stood in the doorway and watched as Mats came walking towards them, followed by a hand-waving-as-he-spoke Marco Reus. Philipp crossed his arms over his chest as Julian’s eyebrows rose high on his face.

Mats was marching towards the jail, a dark glare on his face while Marco appeared to be earnestly trying to explain something. Both Philipp and Julian took a quick few steps back as Mats started up the stairs of the jail. He rounded on Marco and used the height of the stairs to glare down at the other man. There was not enough silver in the world to tempt Philipp and Julian away from the next few words that came out of the Sheriff’s mouth.

“Enough! I’ve had it with you. I don’t want anything more to do with you! You won’t fucking leave me alone, and I don’t care to hear your lies, your excuses. There is only so many times ‘I’m sorry’ works and you are past your limit. Now fuck off and leave me alone!” Mats then turned to walk back into the jail but Marco called out after him, unable to let it go.

“Well fuck you too, sheriff. You knew what you were getting into when all this started so don’t think you are so high and mighty either. And for God’s sake, I was _bored_ what the fuck did you expect me to do? Spend a night alone for a change? Fuck that, I wasn’t going to do that. I was bored!”

“That’s not an excuse and you goddamn well know it.” Mats said without turning around. “Fuck you, I’m going fishing.”

Mats walked into the jail then and there and he had the very aura of ‘don’t fuck with me’ exuding from every pore. Julian had a million questions he wanted to ask but he was smart enough to know that now was most certainly not the best time and he wasn’t going to risk losing his head or being shot to find out what the argument between the two of them was. Besides, it looked as if they had settled things for now.

Mats walked further into the jail and banged around in the back. Marco huffed a loud sigh and turned on his heel and he started back for Lewandowski’s saloon and both Julian and Philipp exchanged a look. Julian had a look of amused confusion on his face while Philipp gave him a shake of the head and a warning look before he turned and followed after Mats.

Julian went to sit back down again, the urge to laugh was rising and he tried to find something to hide that urge post-haste. He picked up Philipp’s discarded paper before he sat down and stared at the words, hoping something could distract him from what he had just seen. Try as he might, he couldn’t help but overhear part of the conversation between Mats and Philipp.

“Are you really going to go fishing?” Philipp had asked and Julian didn’t have to strain at all to hear Mats’ reply.

“Fuck yes, I’m going fishing. God damn it, I can’t stand—” the rest was lost to a bunch of banging around. Julian assumed he was looking for his tackle that he always kept hidden in the supply closet in the back of the jail.

The banging quieted enough for Julian to hear Philipp’s reply.

“At least take somebody with you? I don’t want you this pissed off and on your own. You’ll do something dumb.”

“The fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“You _know_ what I mean…” Philipp replied, softer and Julian shook his head, shoulders shaking with silent laughter now. He couldn’t help it. He didn’t think Mats had a dramatic bone in his body; now that he knew otherwise…

“Well fine, Fips. If that’s the way you want it…” The heavy footfalls of Mats’ boots as he started out of the back room had Julian clearing his throat and hopefully his expression. He was still staring at the paper when a thud sounded and something landed on top of his desk. “Get your gear, Kid. We’re going fishing.”

Mats didn’t sound argumentative and if he was being invited to do something, Julian wasn’t going to argue. He collapsed the paper and stood up quickly, muscles protesting the fact that he just needed to sit for a while without doing anything.

He picked up the sapling fishing pole and followed after Mats as they started out of the jail. Unlike earlier, they weren’t headed south towards out of town, but they started walking north instead. Before they cleared the door, Mats called back in towards Philipp.

“Take good care of the place, Fips. I don’t want anything to blow up like that time in Atlanta.”

“That was _one_ time and you—you know what, go fall into a lake, Mats.” Philipp replied, shaking his head as he resumed his seat in Mats’ chair.

Julian shook his head as he followed after his boss. He hoped he didn’t look like a faithful puppy, but he supposed he wouldn’t mind that if he finally got some answers to his questions and some free amusement at the other’s expense.

It looked like it would be quite the interesting afternoon, indeed.


	7. A Walk in Mats' Shoes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FINALLY I'm done with this chapter. I was going to add more to it about one particular character, but I think I'll wait until the next one for that ;) Anywhoo... Here's an update and there's also a lot of notes at the end of this chapter for those of you who are interested.
> 
> Dedicated to the exceptionally patient Elma, who I love most dearly. I'm sorry for the delay, my love. D:

A few miles outside of town, a spring bubbled up from the mountains and it carried enough life in it to turn into a stream that would wind its way through the hills to the west and eventually it would join the Gila in the Arizona Territory. It wasn’t a huge stream when it got flowing, but nor was the Gila a huge river either. It was big enough for some catfish and some bass to be found in it.

They found themselves sitting next to the bank with their long saplings stuck in the sand as they were in the water. It wasn’t the kind of fishing that Julian grew up with, having grown up on a diet of lobster from where it had been caught and brought back to shore or even fishing in the Atlantic with his dad and brothers before. So to be sitting on a sandy strip of land with a fishing pole stuck in the ground and waiting for something to possibly catch, there wasn’t even a guarantee of that, it was new for him.

So was the fact that he was with Mats.

He knew the sheriff went fishing occasionally. Before he would leave he would tell Julian ‘look after the place, Kid’ and then he would be gone for the afternoon with the fishing pole and the bait box under his arm as he would head north out of town. He had never offered to bring Julian before and, when he hadn’t even gone fishing but to do things that weren’t in the office, Mats never really brought him along either unless he had to. So why they were starting to hang out more often was a mystery to Julian.

There was a few straggly pines that dotted the ground behind them, so at least they were in the shade as the mercury climbed higher towards a hundred as the day went on. Mats was leaning back on his hands, staring at the stream as it flowed by and Julian would glance at him occasionally but not enough to be caught staring. The deputy gave him several hours before he finally spoke again and he started by clearing his throat.

When Mats blinked and turned his head with a raised eyebrow, Julian asked a question by starting with a statement.

“So Mr. Lahm said something interesting while you were gone.”

Mats turned back to the stream. His aggravated tone had gone and it sounded like he was trying to forget about what happened earlier. “Did he? And what did dear Fips say?”

“Yes, and he agreed with what you said last night, that everybody gets shot at least once around here. Then he started laughing and implied you were the expert of such matters. I was wondering why he would start laughing and say you’re the expert on such circumstances?”

Mats looked as if he wanted to sigh or just be disappointed in general. Mats shook his head and leaned forward before he stood up and brushed off his pants. He walked over to check on his line to make sure it wasn’t tangled or caught on a rock. Julian didn’t press it and waited to see if his question would be answered. He was rewarded at long last.

“Because I’ve been shot before. Five times that I can recall, probably once or twice more that I don’t.” Mats replied as he crouched down to check the line.

Julian looked surprised. First of all, how could you not remember being shot? Secondly, he had figured that Mats might have been shot before, once or maybe twice. But _five_ times? That was—

“That’s a bit excessive, don’t you think?”

Mats made a sound of amusement but it wasn’t a full-on laugh. “Yes, I do. However, three of those times were in the War and I didn’t get much choice in the matter.”

Mats turned and moved back towards the shade but he didn’t sit back down again. Instead, he chose to lean against a tree and watch Julian instead of the stream. “Ask your questions, Kid. I know it’s been burning through your britches since last night on the mountain.”

Julian stood up, feeling like such a conversation shouldn’t be had sitting down. He brushed his pants off and faced Mats but didn’t move closer. For a few moments, he watched the river that was so unlike any he had ever seen before now, before he then turned back around and faced his boss. He was going to give the sheriff some space, but he was going to look him in the eye for his answers. He felt owed that much, at the least.

“What exactly is the problem you have with Maine?” Julian went straight for the question that he was most curious about, not bothering to warm the other man up with minor questions. If he was going to be given the chance to have a discussion about his concerns then by God he was going to use it to ask the important things and not pussyfoot around the subject.

Julian watched as Mats sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose before his hand dropped and he answered.

“What do you know of your War stories?” Mats asked with a raised eyebrow. “I know you’re a Yankee, but surely you heard something about it when you were an ankle-biter.”

Julian shrugged. “As much as anybody else, I guess. It really wasn’t something we talked about a lot.”

Mats muttered under his breath but Julian heard him say ‘figures as much’.

“Well, around here, it was kind of a big deal.” Mats replied sarcastically before he shook his head and took the vinegar out of his tone. “I was in General Hood’s Texas Cavalry*.” The air of pride was very blatant and clear as Mats spoke. “We fought in many a great battle, and I was at Gettysburg. That was the first time I got shot at Little Round Top* trying to take that stupid mountain.”

Mats shook his head with a bitter look on his face before the expression cleared and he tapped a point on his left shoulder. “Lucky for me it went clean through, but left a nice little hole that took forever to stop the bleeding for.” He dropped his hand from his shoulder and crossed his arms. “Found out later that the fella that shot me was in the 20th Maine Infantry.”

Julian’s mouth opened into an ‘oh’ expression but he quickly closed it. There were tales of the 20th Maine that he had heard before. Northerners talked about the War in theories and ideologies more than the great tales of Valor except for in exceptional circumstances. The 20th Maine was one such circumstance, especially back home in Maine. Joshua Lawrence Chamberlain was a hero, had even been the governor of the whole state for many years before he went back to his University. He was a legend. Julian had seen him once in Portland, but he had never spoken to the man. He wasn’t sure what it would be like to speak to such a real-life Achilles. But the fact that the 20th Maine was so remarkable was a good reason why it stood to figure why Mats would recall such a regiment from a notorious and noteworthy engagement like Gettysburg had been.

Mats was talking again and Julian was glad for the distraction from his thoughts.

“The second time I was shot was at the Wilderness* and, by some fucking fate, it was by the 20th Maine again. _That_ is the ‘issue’ I have with Maine.” Mats shook his head and stared at Julian with a look of contempt that the deputy knew wasn’t aimed at him, but more or less at the state that he came from. Julian wasn’t even shocked that Mats swore, which was slightly out of character for him.

Julian cleared his throat awkwardly. Well that certainly made sense. And no wonder he had asked if Julian’s father had fought in the War. Julian had been far too young at the time, so he wouldn’t have gone and Mats knew that. None of his brothers had either, only his father would have. And with a regiment of volunteers such as the 20th Maine, it was a very fair question. Julian was so glad he hadn’t had anyone fight in that regiment. He thought Mats would have hated him for sure if he had.

“What about the third time?” Julian asked trying to change the subject, or at least get the awkward part of the conversation with over as quickly as possible. It only got worse when Mats spoke again.

“The Battle of Franklin*.” Mats tone went dark again at that one.

Julian had heard mention of several great battles of the War. Bull Run, where the North lost the first engagement in the entire War and everybody learned the South were serious and not messing around about their freedom. Antietam, where the North lost thousands and was one of the bloodiest battles in the entire war. Gettysburg, where the Army of Northern Virginia failed to invade the North and win a great battle there. Vicksburg, a day after Gettysburg where the control of the Mississippi River was brought back into Northern hands. Cold Harbor, where the North again sacrificed so many brave men to keep pushing the Southerners back and finally, a few months later they surrendered at Appomattox Courthouse.

There were numerous other battles he had seen in the papers or heard about from his father talking to people in town. He had heard about the Battle of Franklin before, but not much. And, of course, when he heard about it was from the Northern perspective. As a young boy, he hadn’t understood that the South were made up of men with their own families before. He only knew that they needed to lose and be destroyed so that everyone could come home again and they could talk about normal things again like going fishing or the lumber mill, not the War and how everything had to go towards that.

But standing in the presence of an actual Confederate veteran, things were a little different. Julian hadn’t really had a face to put to the Confederate side of things before, other than the pictures of the gentleman in grey uniforms that the newspapers had run, and now that he knew Mats, he wasn’t comfortable with the connection. A battle fought between friends, between brothers, with the desperation of a freedom of a free people between the two of them as the main dividing issue was unsettling to now have a face to put it with. If Julian had been older and had fought in the war and he had had to fight against Mats, he didn’t think he could shoot him if his life depended on it. He didn’t understand how friends, or even brothers, could have done that to one another. It was different when it was a stranger versus someone you knew. The thought of it was going to turn his stomach.

“I’m sorry.” Julian spoke quietly, not quite sure what he was apologizing for. He couldn’t apologize for winning the War, nor would he. He hadn’t actually shot Mats, so he couldn’t apologize for that. He couldn’t apologize for the loss sustained to the South, to the people and their livelihoods. He sure as hell wasn’t going to apologize for ending slavery.

“You weren’t there and you didn’t shoot me, don’t worry about it Kid. It’s not your fault.” Mats moved to sit back down again and Julian again noticed that he favored his side.

“What’s wrong with your back? It hurts you sometimes.” Julian asked, also taking a seat seeing that it was safe to do so if Mats had.

“There’s still a bullet in it, of course it hurts sometimes.” Mats replied dryly and went back to stretching out.

Julian paused. “Which one…”

“None of ‘em, got shot in this job for that one. Some dumbass bank robber decided to go firing pistols without looking what he was shooting at, and caught me in the back before I got him. It’s too close to the spine to get it out without paralyzing me, so there it will always stay.” Mats replied without looking over. He yawned and Julian watched as the sheriff laid down on the bank next to the river and closed his eyes. A nap did start to sound like a good idea, at this point, Julian thought.

“So how did you end up as the sheriff anyway?” Julian asked, knowing that a bunch of the Confederate soldiers had really struggled during the Reconstruction* with finding jobs and getting their rights as citizens back. He had heard about stories like that from his father as he grew up in the post-war years.

Mats took a deep breath, but he didn’t move from his reclining position. “After the War, I piddled around trying to help people in Tennessee, Georgia, couple other places. I wound up back in Houston with Fips. There was an offer of work out here in the Territory and we both needed to keep ourselves alive somehow, so it just worked out that way.”

Julian had a feeling that he would have shrugged if he had been sitting up. The Kid thought that maybe Mats had come out to the Territories to forget about the War and look for a new life the way he believed others had. He wasn’t going to ask to find out about that part of it though. He would let Mats have some privacy of his own thoughts and motivations for why he had come out to New Mexico.

“So you and Mr. Lahm are on very good terms, then.” Julian stated, having known of the friendship between the two since he had arrived in Sundance.

“He’s saved my ass more times than I would care to admit, and I for him as well. Yes, Kid, we’re good friends.”

“What happened in Atlanta?” Julian asked and Mats laughed at that; wrinkles tinged the corners of his eyes as he did so and Julian found himself smiling at the reaction, but waited for the answer.

“Without giving evidence against myself and incriminating anything,” Mats started, turning his head to look at Julian, “let’s just say Philipp knows his way around an armory, but somehow manages to forget that fire and gunpowder don’t necessarily mix well. Of course, he might have remembered such a thing, if he hadn’t been trying to haul my drunk ass out of the armory too…”

“Why were you drunk in an armory?” Julian asked.

“It was the middle of the War, we were bored and had leave in Atlanta. That’s back when we were winning in ’62.” Mats shrugged, the smile left his face as he turned back to look at the sky. From what Julian could see of the other man’s face, he looked sad, as if the nostalgia of the days in the antebellum South* was taking hold and he desperately missed those days of tranquility.

“Any other questions you want to ask?” Mats asked as he kept his eyes closed.

Julian considered for a moment. The main one had been answered and he wanted to ask more about the War, but at the same time he didn’t. He was already uncomfortable with the fact that he now for-sure knew a veteran of the conflict and he wasn’t sure he wanted to hear the other side’s point of view on it. Everything up until then had been so solid, so sure. It had been what he was taught ever since he could understand the grown folks talking about what was going on underneath the Mason-Dixon line*. The South was wrong, slavery was wrong, and their need for independence was wrong. It was the _United_ States of America, not the USA and the Confederacy. It didn’t work; it wasn’t right.

But if someone as smart as Mats had fought for them, believed in ‘The Cause*’, were they really as wrong as Julian had been told his whole life?

Did he really want to find out? Not really.

“Who else in Sundance fought in the War?” Julian asked. Who else would look at him as if he were their enemy? Who else fought for the Confederacy?

Mats took a deep breath as he considered it. “Me. Fips of course, he was in the Texas Infantry*. I think Satan Bob was a blockade runner* in New Orleans. A couple of the ranchers on the Klinsmann ranch and a few of the others spread around the countryside, not many of them come to town much and they’re getting old anyway.”

“Did Jürgen?” Julian asked. It was hard to believe the nice older man with kinder blue eyes could have fought in anything, never mind the Civil War.

“Nope. He came after all that was over in the Reconstruction. He moved here from Germany or some place like that.” Mats shrugged and put his arms behind his head.

Julian felt a little relieved at that. At least one of the men he knew who treated him with some token of kindness hadn’t fought in the War. That did explain the man’s German accent, which Julian had guessed before but never really had confirmed for him until then.

“Fips told me that Jürgen and his boys did ride out of town yesterday on the way towards the stock yard in Greeley*. They won’t be back for a long time.” Mats shrugged and then lapsed into silence.

Another thing Julian had learned about were the infamous cattle drives that lasted months and months on end where the herds of cattle would move from the ranches to the nearest Cattle Town to be loaded onto trains and sold at great profit, if you could get the bulk of the heard in good shape towards the towns. They took months and a lot of effort, but the profits were well worth the trouble. The only problem was risking the weather, the Native peoples, and possibly outlaws looking for a cut of their own out of it. That’s why ranchers too great care to brand the cows before they left.

That thought caused Julian to start.

“Hey, Mats. If Jürgen left early for the cattle town and he took his whole herd, is it possible he’s the one that’s been stealing Ballack’s cows?”

Mats paused and he considered it.

“It could happen… And if they’ve only been gone a day…” Mats sat up then and went over to jerk his fishing sapling out of the ground. Julian scrambled up and followed suit without being told to.

They were off again; ready to see if their cattle thief was at work again.

* * *

There’s a lot of history in this chapter (my inner dork came out big time) and for those of you who would like additional reading, I hope this helps. :) And lol I put so many notes, it wouldn't fit in the end notes box!

1\. [Hood’s Texas Brigade](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Texas_Brigade) was a famous section of the Confederate Army (of Northern Virginia) and were led by General [John Bell Hood](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/John_Bell_Hood), who is one of my favorite Generals in the War, but I digress, who fought extremely bravely in many different battles. In my story, Fips was in the Infantry and Mats would’ve been in a branch of the Cavalry.

2\. [The Battle of Little Round Top](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Little_Round_Top#History) was a key battle on the Second Day of the much bigger [Battle of Gettysburg](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Battle_of_Gettysburg) in July 1863. ~~It’s also one of my favorite battles~~ and the whole battle is considered a huge turning part in the War. The South was still effective in fighting after this point, but they never got over this one. The day was saved for the Union at Little Round Top by [Colonel Joshua Chamberlain](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Joshua_Chamberlain) who ordered a bayonet charge and that stopped the exhausted Confederate Army for the day. If the Confederate Army had succeeded that day, it’s likely they would have won the Battle and most likely the War, but they didn’t because of the 20th Maine regiment that held the mountain (and thus the flank of the Union Army).

3\. [The Battle of the Wilderness](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Battle_of_the_Wilderness) was another battle in the War fought in May 1864. At this time, the War was winding down and the Union commander [General Ulysses S Grant](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ulysses_S._Grant) was trying to wear down the Army of Northern Virginia (which he ultimately did ~~god dammit~~ ). It was a chaotic battle that was ultimately inconclusive because the armies disengaged and left the area.

4\. [The Battle of Franklin](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Battle_of_Franklin_\(1864\)) was a Confederate Army disaster and ruined John Bell Hood’s military career. It was one of the worst battles and one of the last, happening on November 30th, 1864. It also made the Army of Tennessee pretty much ineffective after the battle because they were never able to really mount an offensive after that. The campaign was futile and (honestly) stupid and it was awful.

5\. The series of battles mentioned by Julian are: [Bull Run](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/First_Battle_of_Bull_Run) (June 1861, Confederate victory), [Antietam](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Battle_of_Antietam) (September 1862, inconclusive), Gettysburg (July 1863), [Vicksburg](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Siege_of_Vicksburg) (siege ended July 1863, another turning point of the war, Union victory and happened right after the battle of Gettysburg, like literally a day after), [Cold Harbor](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Battle_of_Cold_Harbor) (June 1864, another awful battle, Confederate victory). And lastly, the surrender at [Appomattox Courthouse](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Battle_of_Appomattox_Court_House) (1865, ~~sobs~~ and the South surrendered).

**Bull Run** was fought twice, Confederates won both times and call it the battle of Manassas (First Manassass, Second Manassas). It’s the first battle of the War and happened very close to Washington DC. **Antietam** is also called the battle of Sharpsburg, but it’s notorious for being the single bloodiest day in all of American history because over 22,000 men died in one day. Some suggest (including President Lincoln at the time) that the commander of the Union army could have ended the war at Antietam but didn’t, allowing the Confederate troops to go back into the South, prolonging the War. Mr. Lincoln wasn’t thrilled about that, believe me.

**Vicksburg** was strategically important because it cut off Texas, Louisiana, and Arkansas from the rest of the south and it handed the very vitally important Mississippi River back into Union hands and hurt the Southern supply line critically. The fact that it ended a day after the Battle of Gettysburg where the South lost in awful fashion, it’s the turning point of the war that showed the South wouldn’t win. **Cold Harbor** was the South digging in to defend their capital, Richmond, and it was another one of Grant’s strategies to wear down the Confederate Army. The Southerners technically won the battle, but at great cost. It was at this battle that J.L. Chamberlain (mentioned above) was wounded so badly that the newspapers in Maine ran his obituary, even though he later survived and became the governor of the state of Maine and president of Bowdoin College.

**Appomattox Courthouse** was the last battle that the main army of the Confederacy fought the Union on April 9th, 1865. The South surrendered after this and there really wasn’t even a battle because at that point the Southerners were exhausted and couldn’t maintain the war anymore, so they ended it.

6\. [The Reconstruction](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Reconstruction_Era) refers to the time period in the post-War era where the South had to be rebuilt due to the fact most of the War was fought in the South and the Southern economy took a nosedive and it was all bad for Southerners. Not to mention civil rights of Southerners were heavily restricted because of ‘punishment’ for having rebelled in the first place. It’s also during this time that deep-seated racism towards the former slaves really began because they were given rights (men first, women would come later just like it would for all women) and with a shitty economy…ignorance and hatred stirred and the Klan was started after the War as well.

7\. [Antebellum South](http://www.historynet.com/antebellum-period) refers to the traditional view of the South. Big plantation houses, slavery, cotton, etc. and it was the time period usually thought of after the War of 1812 and right up until the beginning of the Civil War in 1861.

8\. [Mason-Dixon Line](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mason%E2%80%93Dixon_line#Symbolism) was a pre-Revolutionary War surveyed line, but it is mainly referred to (especially nowadays) as the dividing line between the North and the South. In the 1800’s before the War it divided the Slave States and the Free States (until the Missouri Compromise happened where new states were added to the Union and they had to redefine the boundaries of slave states, etc.)

9\. “The Cause” is a reference to why the South went to War in the first place.

10\. [Blockade Runners](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Blockade_runners_of_the_American_Civil_War) would try to break the Union blockade set up on the coast of the Southern states that were trying to cut off the supply lines. (if anyone has ever heard about Gone With The Wind before, Rhett Butler was a blockade runner…… ;) ).

11\. [Cattle Drives](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cattle_drives_in_the_United_States) were a huge business back in the day and Greeley, Colorado was one of the “Cattle Towns” that would be a railroad head to ship cattle back and forth back East.


	8. Instigation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lonnnnnnnnnnnng chapter. But hope you like it :D

Mats had learned long ago that idleness was a trait very much not in his nature. Therefore, he had decided, it be for the best if he always have something to be up to so that he couldn’t find himself in trouble or contemplating the meaning of his mother’s expression ‘Idle hands are the devil’s playground’. He wasn’t going to let that happen, whatever it meant anyhow.

He had always been up to something; fishing, hunting, riding horses, looking after the ranch of his childhood, or even in the War and the hours upon hours of just riding around in the course of his duty or the many miles he marched when he wasn’t on horseback, or the God-only-knew how many hours he had spent patrolling the area surrounding the town of Sundance, Mats had always been up to something whether it was in the course of justice as it was now or in the case of mischief when he didn’t have a lot to distract him. He was always up to something.

However, there was a limit that he could push himself to and the plan of his having one day to himself to relax hadn’t worked out the way he had planned. He wasn’t ‘taking it easy’ and giving his back the time it needed to heal and he probably should have.

The Kid and he had taken fresh horses, leaving Paa-puuku and Moonstar behind to rest after their long trek the day before and that morning, and had rode at rather quick-clip of speed in the direction that the giant cloud of smoke on the horizon indicated that Jürgen and his ranch hands had gone in. They were several hours off, but Mats knew they would catch up since they didn’t have to worry about a large herd to keep track of and they could move across rougher ground that couldn’t otherwise be travelled on.

And sure enough, about two hours before the sun set, they had caught up to the cattle herd and the men assisting with the drive. They rode along the skirts of the straggling cows before they caught up to Jürgen who was at the lead of the group. As they rode up to him, Mats kept glancing at the hide of the cows to look for the Ballack brand. He didn’t see anything that wasn’t the Klinsmann ‘J’ and ‘K’ intertwined. That didn’t mean he wasn’t going to check them over, however.

Jürgen noticed their arrival and he held up his hand, slowing the progress of everyone and he turned his horse to face the sheriff and the deputy of Sundance and was leaning on the horn of his saddle as the two finally came to a rest and stopped in front of him. Mats tipped his hat in the German’s direction before he leaned back in his saddle and ignored the numbness of pain in his lower back.

“Hello, sheriff, _guten Abend_. What can I do for you?” Jürgen asked pleasantly, in the tone the man always had. With the herd coming to a stop, the sound of lowing cows was frequent as some of the ranchers that were helping with the cattle drive let their curiosity bring them in a little closer as they eavesdropped on Jürgen, Mats, and Julian’s conversation.

“Evenin’ Mister Klinsmann. We just wanted to make sure you were having a good drive,” Mats replied. “Check your stock over before you get too far out of town.” He smiled then, politely and Jürgen nodded.

“Of course, sir. Be my guest.” He smiled in return and Julian wondered if that meant he was innocent or just overly confident that he had gotten away with the theft. Julian wouldn’t ever get over it if the nice Mr. Klinsmann was their cattle thief. He’d had dinner over at the Klinsmann’s ranch for God’s sakes.

Mat tipped his hat in gratitude and then looked at Julian. “Look over the stock, Kid. You get to learn how to read a brand for today’s lesson.”

Julian wanted to glare at the sheriff as they had their gazes locked. While yes he was from back East and from the city at that, he _did_ know how to read a brand, thank you very much. He was about to fire back a retort when he picked up on Mats inclination. _You take a look at the cattle, I’ll question Jürgen._ Perhaps that was for the best, since Julian wasn’t sure he could be subtle enough to get information from Jürgen while they were trying to be discreet about any possibly accusations. He wasn’t sure he could do that, but he could definitely look at a cow and see if any tampering with brands had been made.

“Yes, sir.” Julian replied and started to move through the cows, making sure to look at as many of them, if not all of them, as he could. He kept his eyes open and his ears as he listened to Mats make conversation with Jürgen.

“It’s a good night for moving them,” Mats started and looked to the sky as the sun was dipping to the west behind them. Jürgen nodded, looking at the burning red colors that had started to paint the sky as the ground began to grow in shadows.

“It is not too hot.” Jürgen agreed.

“Had any trouble so far? Coyotes? Indians?” Mats asked as Julian moved further down into the herd. He was so smooth, Julian thought as he pushed aside his previous annoyance at having to be made to look over the livestock. It was certain, he wouldn’t have been that smooth if he’d had to ask Jürgen about what was going on.

“No, sheriff. But it’s only the first real day.” Jürgen smiled and Mats nodded with a slight chuckle.

“I guess you’re right sir. You be sure to let us know the next time you get near a town how it’s going. Telegraph’s a wonderful thing.” Mats replied with concern in his tone. Julian wondered if it was genuine.

“You’re very thoughtful, sheriff. I will be sure we do that.”

Mats nodded once and looked over Julian. When the Kid noticed his gaze, he shook his head a little and Mats sighed. He didn’t think Jürgen would have done it, but that didn’t explain why the old man was leaving out earlier than usual.

“Bit early for this kind of thing, isn’t it?” Mats turned his head and asked Jürgen. 

“I suppose so, but we are going a little further this year. To the Colorado territory instead of Arizona, as usual.”

A red flag went up for Mats. Not only were they leaving earlier than the normal slaughter season, but they were headed to a market that was not only further away but not their usual one? Curious, indeed.

“Why the change?” Mats asked casually. “Colorado’s a hell of a long way.”

Jürgen nodded and he smiled a little, sentimentality growing on his features. Mats’ mental warning still remained, but the caution went down a little.

“I have been to the Prescott stockyards many times, sheriff. I find that they don’t give as good a price as some others do sometimes. Your Amarillo is kinder to an old man, but I would like to try Colorado this time just to see if they will give me what my cattle are truly worth. And besides, my daughter is coming from Houston and will meet me in Denver after the sale. Perhaps we will stay there a while before we must return our separate ways.”

Mats watched his expression for any sign of a bluff. He was also an avid poker player and so therefore he could read a man’s face very well. Jürgen showed no signs of dishonesty. Mats nodded and gave the man a smile before offering him his hand.

“Well good luck to you, Mr. Klinsmann.” They shook hands.

“Danke, Herr Sheriff.” Jürgen smiled again and Mats looked back over to Julian.

“Come on, Kid. Let’s go back home.” Mats called down to him before he turned to face Jürgen again. “Send me a telegram from Denver, if you’d be so kind. I’ve always wondered what those mountains look like.”

Jürgen took his hand back from their handshake and he nodded. “It would be my pleasure. If you could find the time or inclination, I would say you would be most welcome to join my daughter and I.”

“I might take you up on that offer, sir.” Mats smiled a little before he dismissed the idea instantly. He didn’t have enough time for a vacation, nor the money. No matter how strong his curiosity was to see the famed Rocky Mountains. “Have a good drive, and again, apologies for any inconvenience.”

“It is no trouble at all, sir. Have a good trip home yourself.” Jürgen then turned his horse and went back to head the column. Mats watched him go before he moved his horse down the herd as he stopped next to Julian. They watched as the cowboys whistled and called to get the cattle moving again as they started for the road once again.

Julian and Mats turned their horses away as the giant cloud of dust stirred up again and they began a trot away from the group as they headed back west towards the dying sun and Sundance. When they were far enough away from the dust and the cattle, Julian turned to Mats.

“I didn’t see any brand other than Jürgen’s. And I didn’t see any messing around to hide a previous one, either.”

Mats nodded and he let out a sigh. “Then we have a cattle thief somewhere at home that is trying to frame Indians for it and incite some kind of trouble. Perfect.”

He shook his head and gave Julian a look. “Good work, Kid. I’ll make you a great man of the West yet, even if it kills me.”

Julian smiled a little. “Don’t let it do that boss. Something tells me you’d blame Maine once again and haunt me for the rest of my life.”

Mats stared at the other man just long enough for him to be made uncomfortable for his effort of teasing. Mats could tell he was on the brink of an apology for speaking out of turn when Mats’ lips broke into a smile and he started to laugh a little.

“Watching you freak out is very fun.” Mats laughed and Julian huffed a sigh as they both started back towards Sundance, first at a walk, then as Mats turned into a trot, Julian started a canter. Soon enough they were racing one another over the rolling hills back towards their New Mexico town short one suspect and no further clues to think of.

\---

For the first time in days, Mats was asleep in his own bed in the jail. From the sound of his snoring, Julian assumed he was completely out of it and therefore he wasn’t going to wake the man up unless it was because of pain of death. They had returned to Sundance the night before and Mats had insisted that he keep watch and send Fips home, despite Julian’s protests that he would do it and the sheriff should get some sleep.

Julian wasn’t quite sure how, but the sheriff had lasted throughout the whole night and Julian had come to relieve him around seven in the morning. Mats had been asleep in the back of the jail for over three hours now and Julian wasn’t about to wake him up. He just hoped the town of Sundance wouldn’t ruin that plan and wake the poor man.

The deputy was sat on the front porch, watching the street and the people mill about. They were about due for a visit from the Marshall Service, but that wouldn’t be for another two weeks. And nothing, apart from their cattle thief, was much out of the ordinary. There were some bar fights, some shootings, but nothing too crazy and those who were responsible for their crimes were answering for them. No new stagecoach newcomers had come into town except for the last one that had brought Marco with it a few months ago. The coaches that had come through had decided to move on ahead after spending a night or two to refuel and rest themselves and their horses before they continued on wherever they were headed to. Julian knew that most of the coaches were headed for Prescott, Arizona or some in the other direction towards Colorado or even back towards Texas. He hadn’t ever been on a stagecoach trip before, but he didn’t think he would like it. He liked riding his own horse wherever he wanted, instead of being boxed up in a little coach with several other people.

For Julian’s observations, it appeared it was going to be another slow day and he was perfectly okay with that. He was considering what he was going to do later when he saw Marco headed in the direction of the jail. Julian didn’t react or move from his position, slouched against the wall of the jail. He only let his eyes move as they followed the blond man across the street until he crossed the dirt road and came to a stop at Julian’s feet on the bottom step of the jail.

“He awake?” Marco asked, nodding into the darkness of the jail.

“Nope.” Julian replied, watching the other man warily. He could block the door before Marco could get to it, if he had to but he watched the other man to see what he was going to do. “I can leave a message if you like?”

Marco watched him for a moment; eyeing him up, Julian was sure of it, but he didn’t flinch or back down from the obvious stare-down. He met Marco’s eyes when they finally rejoined his face and Marco smiled a little, more of a smirk than a smile, Julian noted.

“I see why he likes you.” Marco’s smirk lingered and Julian didn’t have any idea what the other man was talking about or implying.

“He’s my boss. I hope he likes me.” Julian replied dryly. “But it doesn’t matter. I’m here to work and so is he so it doesn’t really matter very much if he does or doesn’t.”

“He has a thing for his deputies.” Marco continued and Julian grew very still. _That’s something I wasn’t expecting_ , he thought. “You should ask about your predecessor sometime.” When Julian still didn’t say anything, Marco raised an eyebrow, smirk lifting from his face. “You mean you don’t know?”

He was reluctant to do so, but Julian shook his head. Marco laughed a little, hands on his hips as his body shook with it. Julian was tempted to shoot to maim him, but he kept his control on the situation, barely.

“Well, Kiddo. I would ask around. There’s a reason there’s a vacancy that you filled and if it were me, I would have wanted to know all about it before I agreed to be the next one in line.”

“As previously was stated, Mister Reus, I’m here to work. Is there anything I can do for you?” Julian asked, annoyance creeping into his tone while his curiosity stirred anew.

Marco looked him over again, eyes lingering on his crotch and Julian blushed a little. Marco’s eyes finally rejoined his own and he smirked. “No, and I don’t think you’re my type who I would offer to assist in helping you with relieving your stress. Besides, if I picked on one of dear Matsi’s pets, he might be too angry to forgive me for that one. Unless you paid, of course.”

“I ain’t paying you—” Julian paused and cleared his throat. “I mean, I’m _not_ paying you for anything. Just clear on out of here. You have no business around here, unless you want me to arrest you for something?”

Marco smiled, amused that Julian had slipped into the colloquial vocabulary instead of his educated one. “No, thank you. I don’t think I want to be arrested by you, ever. However your boss…”

“Is tired of your shit, now clear out as the Kid said.”

Julian didn’t startle or react, but watched as Marco’s eyes lingered on Mats in the doorway. Julian wished he had been able to keep better control of the situation so Mats wouldn’t have had to wake up.

“Yes, sir, sheriff sir. Anything you want of me, sir.” Marco replied, bowing and using mock politeness to further his sarcastic gestures. Mats was not impressed and crossed his arms over his chest, leaving Marco to scoff. “You’re not as high and mighty as you think you are, sheriff. Just remember that.”

Julian watched as Mats and Marco exchanged a heated look until the blond turned on his heel and started back across the street; his back was ramrod straight and his fists were clinched at his sides. Julian was quiet for a moment, but he could hear Mats breathing and it was more frequent than usual, likely worked up about the altercation just now.

“I’m sorry,” Julian apologized, earning Mats attention focused on him instead of on the retreating blonde’s back.

“What for?” Mats had an eyebrow raised, but otherwise he looked tousled from sleep. His hair was sticking up every which way and he definitely needed a shave, the stubble coated his jaw densely. He also looked tired.

“For waking you up. I thought I could handle it without having to do that.” Julian would have continued to ramble on but Mats held up a hand and shook his head so Julian fell silent.

“Don’t feel bad, Kid. You didn’t wake me up; I woke myself up. Then I heard that mongrel running his mouth off, so I thought I’d see what he was telling you.”

“What did you hear?” Julian asked and Mats raised his eyebrow again.

“That you weren’t going to pay him for anything and that he didn’t want to be arrested by you. Now what else should I have heard?” He now looked levelly at Julian who suddenly found the nails in the porch very interesting to look at instead of the crossed-armed sheriff.

“Nothing.” Julian replied, standing up. “I’m going to go check on the horses.”

He was three steps down off of the porch when Mats called out to him. “Kid, watch your back.”

Julian looked over his shoulder at Mats and nodded before he turned to leave to head to the stables like he said he was going to do. He hoped he would be gone long enough for Mats to get sleepy again and go back into the jail and get some more sleep. He somehow doubted it though. Mats struck him as the type of man who, when once awake, would stay that way and not get any more rest after that.

The deputy found himself at the stables like he thought he would and he went to check on Mats’ horse first. Paa-puuku was a solitary animal and untrustworthy of most, except a few people. Mats, of course, and Philipp, and Erik. Yet the dark horse seemed willing to let Julian rub his nose and feed him a carrot and Julian felt as if that was some small victory to be had that he had earned in some way.

“I didn’t expect to see you around here for a while. Headed out somewhere?” A voice called to him and Julian recognized Philipp’s voice when he heard it. He didn’t even have to look over to see the other man to know it was him, but he did so anyway in acknowledgement of the other man’s presence. It was almost impossible to make friends out here, but enemies were a dime a dozen. And Julian would rather the former instead of the latter.

“No, Mr. Lahm. I just came out to stretch my legs for a while and see what the lovely horses here were up to.” He smiled a little and rubbed Paa-puuku’s nose once more before Philipp came to stop and stood next to him.

“You sound like Erik.” Philipp looked over the sheriff’s horse. “Do you have any experience with these animals?”

Julian shook his head. “Farm horses, a little. I’ve even seen a race at Saratoga before, but not really much of anything else.”

“I pity you then, they are amazing creatures.” Philipp reached his hand out and Paa-puuku instantly left Julian’s attentions for the stable master’s and even made a playful whinnying sound and Philipp smiled.

Julian watched their interaction and saw the smile on the other man’s face. The stable master was a reserved man, quiet to a fault and never seemed to be caught up in the vices of a man’s world. He didn’t appear to gamble, chase after women or men for pleasure, and Julian didn’t recall ever seeing the man drink anything stronger than the occasional beer in the jail with Mats.

“What are you staring at me for?” Philipp asked without looking over, the accent of his washing over Julian’s senses and reminded him that the stable owner was another Confederate veteran. He cleared his throat and looked away.

“I was just curious about something is all.” Julian replied and he thought he heard Philipp sigh when he didn’t continue.

“And that something would be?”

“What happened to the deputy before me?” Julian asked, and he was surprised to hear himself say it. He was going to ask what happened that earned you a gunshot wound, but somehow that isn’t what came out instead. Julian blamed it on the spark of irritation Marco had stirred up a few minutes before.

Philipp’s eyebrows rose and he looked at the current deputy in surprise before his expression cleared altogether. He cleared his throat and looked away. He deflected the point. “You should ask Mats.”

“I’m asking you.” Julian wasn’t sure where this bravery had come from, but oh well. He had started it now and he wasn’t going to stop until he had answers. Even if it was Mats’ friend and very likely word of this inquiry would come back to bite Julian in the ass.

“You’re getting rather mouthy for a Yankee.” Philipp replied and Julian felt the bravery of youthful determination kick in.

“You’re getting rather avoidant for a Southerner. What’s the matter with me knowing?”

“It’s not my place to tell you.” Philipp replied. “You’re the deputy, you should have found out before you took the job.”

“Maybe I should have, but it wasn’t something that really came up. They said Sundance needed a new deputy and I needed a job. So here I am and now I’d really appreciate it if you could be honest with me and tell me straight: What happened to the previous deputy?”

Philipp sighed and removed his hand from the horse’s muzzle and he looked at Julian with an agitated appearance. He wasn’t used to being pushed like this, Julian guessed, and especially not by some kid who really didn’t have the right to be asking these questions of him.

“Fine. But not here.” Philipp took a step back from the stalls and gestured towards his office and Julian followed his lead right into the office of the stables. Julian took a seat in front of the desk that had a few bits of paper littering the top of it but was mostly otherwise neat and organized. Philipp poured from a decanter of whisky and took a strong drink of it, breaking the illusion that Julian had had of him a moment before. So the man _could_ drink something other than beer, it turned out.

He picked a photograph frame from the wall, where it was hidden behind a coat and jacket or two before he handed the framed photograph towards Julian. The deputy looked at the faces in the photograph and he instantly recognized Mats and Philipp as well as a few of the other men that he had seen around town.

The photograph was of course black and white and grainy in its condition but if he had to guess, it had been taken about five years ago if anything about age and how little Mats had changed since then and the fact that there was still the shiny star on his chest for Sundance that the man still wore. It was in a room that seemed unremarkable and who knew where it had been taken from. There was something that Julian focused on in the photograph, though, and that was the man that was sitting directly next to Mats, and leaning into him if anything.

He had lighter hair than Mats, another blond Julian guessed, and his beard was a standard goatee where Mats had a full one then. He was handsome enough in his own way and the silver star on his own chest over his heart made the darkness of his clothing stand out even more. Julian stared at the photograph, trying to memorize it for several minutes, before Julian spoke again.

“That was the last photograph we have of the whole gang. Mats has one too, somewhere.” Philipp shrugged and he took the photograph out of Julian’s hand and he looked at it a while in silence. Julian let him have the quiet because he was studying the other man’s face. He looked sad.

Philipp eventually put the photograph down and folded his hands on top of his desk, fingers steepled together and he watched Julian for a moment.

“Benedikt Höwedes is your predecessor. Like Mats and I, he fought in Hood’s Texas Brigade, though he was in the cavalry with Mats. He came along with us to the Territories and he became Mats deputy for the five years until you came along.”

Julian nodded slowly. He swallowed hard, stiffness in his throat from the answer he was dreading. He could tell just from the photograph that this Benedikt and Mats had been close. How close was something Julian wasn’t sure he wanted the answer to.

“What happened to him?”

Philipp was quiet for another few moments before the sadness on his face matched with what he felt and it compelled him to speak. “He died.” Philipp looked away out of the window and at the endless blue sky that could be seen from his office.

“He died in an Apache raid last year. Three months before you came to town.”

Julian figured that the man had died, but he wasn’t sure how and now that he knew he felt a pang of sympathy for not only the stable master but also the sheriff. He wasn’t quite sure what to say. An apology, he felt, would have only offended Philipp even more than his pushy attitude had earlier. He wasn’t going to be that much of an asshole, no matter if he was sorry or not.

So they sat in quiet; Julian looked at the frame from the reverse angle but still able to see just how close Mats and this Benedikt person had been, and Philipp eventually turned back from the window to look at the photograph and see the memories he had tried to forget for a while.

Julian wasn’t quite sure how long he sat there but he stood up after a while and very softly made his excuses to leave. Philipp didn’t acknowledge him apart from giving him a brief nod and Julian turned and left. Once outside, he jammed his hat back onto his head and felt like an ungrateful child for pushing so hard. Now that he knew what happened to the man who had stood before him, Julian thought as he walked back towards the main part of town, he felt connected even more to the town of Sundance. Still, he wondered if what Marco had said before about Mats’ favoring his deputies was true and if it was, what should he feel about that?

Julian shook off the thoughts. He figured Marco was just talking to get a rise out of him and that Mats wasn’t after him like _that_ anyway. They were friends, decent friends now but hopefully better ones one day, and that’s all Julian would care about for a while. Maybe that’s why Mats kept pushing him away sometimes; he didn’t want to become too friendly with a deputy after the loss of his first one? That would make sense, Julian thought and accepted this as a fact even though he had nothing else to back it up with.

He didn’t return to the jail, still not able to look at Mats yet after so fresh a revolution. He instead carried on back towards town on what he hoped to be in the guise of a patrol around town. All he was really doing was killing some time in hopes of Mats either going back to sleep or doing something else at the jail that would give Julian enough time to come to terms with what he had just been told.

He found himself near the Post Office so he went inside. Might as well check and see if there were any new handbills or any other mail that had arrived while he and Mats had been out. He entered the shop and nodded to the Postmaster before waiting his turn in line for the mail. As he waited, the sound of the telegraph machine working caught his attention and he watched as the operator began to jot down a new message. Once the translation was complete, the operator read it and Julian watched as his eyes went wide. 

The man spun out of his chair and whirled, relieved looking when he saw Julian standing in the Post Office. He came right over and Julian wondered what on earth was going on. The Marshall wasn’t on his way to do a surprise inspection was he?

“What is it, Mister Kramer?”

The young man handed over a piece of paper with the words he’d just decoded written on them. Julian read the words that had been sent from a town to the north, Reserve, and he straightened a little. Well, there would be no denying it now, he would have to get Mats involved now.

“Thank you, Mr. Kramer, I’ll take care of it.” Julian told the man before he turned and started out of the Post Office. He was quick in his stride, but he wasn’t running. He wasn’t going to panic anyone else in town just because of this news, important as it was.

He did jog up the stairs into the jail and called for Mats once he had set his foot on the bottom-most one.

“What?” Mats asked, pouring a cup of coffee. “Horses spook on you or something?”

He started to laugh a little but stopped when he turned and saw Julian’s face. “What is it?”

Julian offered the telegram and took a deep breath. Walking briskly, even under the not-midday hot sun, wasn’t the easiest thing to do in the desert.

“Jürgen sent word from Reserve. Two of his boys were kidnapped and he’s asking for help.”

Mats sighed and he took a seat. He took a long drink from his coffee and he looked at Julian.

“Go get Philipp and bring him here. I’ll figure out what we’re going to do. If I’m not here when you get back, don’t worry, I’ll just be sending a telegram of my own. Get to it, Kid.”

Julian nodded and scrambled out of the jail, this time quicker than he had when he came back from the Post Office. He just hoped that the two kids that were taken had enough sense not to get themselves killed until Mats could figure out what they were going to do to save them.


	9. Out of the Frying Pan…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New chapter! :D Thanks for the patience, I appreciate it. Maybe you'll get another one in a few hours, it depends on when I wake up/feel inspired. Hope you like it. :D

By the time Julian had returned with Philipp, Mats was back from sending his telegram and was securing his gun belt to his waist. Julian chewed the inside of his lip as he watched how easily Mats had secured the belt. Mats didn’t pay him any immediate attention, focusing instead on Philipp.

“Fips, I’m going to ride up to Reserve and see what happened. Feel like coming with me?”

Julian felt a stab of discomfort at having been passed over, but he trusted his boss and he waited to see what else the other man was going to say. Philipp was nodding in agreement and Mats turned then to face Julian as Philipp had left the jail to ready his own supplies to leave.

“I want you to wait here. You’ll be in charge until I get back. I sent word for the US Marshall to come down from Albuquerque and he’ll be here in the next day or so, depending on how fast the train leaves out of the city. I want you to tell him what happened in more detail when he gets here. Fips and I will ride ahead on to Reserve and see what we can find out. We’ll send word back; we should know something by the time he arrives.”

Julian listened to Mats’ instructions and committed them to memory. He _was_ the deputy, after all. He got to be in charge when Mats wasn’t, even though he felt as if he was missing out on the fun stuff. A rescue mission would have been very interesting, he thought but then reigned in his thoughts. Mats was grabbing one of the rifles and a box of the appropriate ammunition.

“Now more than likely, the Marshall will come on after us, unless we find something that keeps him here. Either way, we’ll send word back. If he does ride out, I want you to send a message to Reserve that tells us so we know to wait for him or leave word there and follow a lead if we have one. Understand?” Julian nodded so Mats continued. “Just don’t piss him off. The Marshall isn’t a man to mess around with; he’s not as fun as I am.”

“If you have any trouble with anything or if it gets out of hand, send word to Silver City and have the sheriff down there send up a few of his men. I don’t know how long I’ll be gone for. Just take care of yourself, Kid.” Mats stopped at the door before he left and looked at Julian for a moment. Despite himself, Marco’s words came back to mind. ‘ _He has a thing for his deputies._ ’ Mats gave him a nod and then he turned and walked out and headed for the stables.

Julian went out onto the porch and watched him disappear from view behind the buildings after a moment and he sighed. He wanted to know what was going to happen. He wanted to go on the adventure too. He wanted to help rescue someone. But Mats had trusted him with a duty, here, and had left him in sole charge of it. He was responsible for a whole town on his own.

He thought about the sheriff of Silver City, Joachim Löw, and remembered what he had heard of the man. He was old. Older than Mats by a good way, and he had fought in the Mexican-American war back when Texas was only a republic of its own and was trying to get out of Mexico and join the United States. If that was the case, Julian thought, the man had to be pushing fifty-something. He hadn’t ever met him before. He really hoped he wouldn’t have to call the other man for help.

 

Mats arrived at the stables a moment or two later and he saw Philipp already prepared to go. He noticed at once that the other man had been quiet upon his arrival. No quip or sarcastic comment had been made, not even a question as to why he had been summoned. That wasn’t so much like the man that Mats knew, but he wasn’t going to push the other man either. Philipp had a way of speaking his mind and whenever he was ready, then he would talk, no sooner. Mats wasn’t going to push that pattern now.

He readied Paa-puuku for the trip and nodded when Philipp asked if he was ready. It would be a day and a half’s ride towards Reserve, but at least it was northward and into the canyon instead of over the hot desert ground. At least there would be shade, part of the way, Mats thought as he and Philipp began to take the main road north out of Sundance. _That also means there’s a chance for an ambush_ , Mats thought absently as he and Philipp rode side by side.

He wasn’t looking forward to that possibility. Mexican bandits, or even American ones, not to mention Indians, could hide up in those hills and you would never know it until it was too late. He had secured the rifle within easy reach and it was loaded, but the safety was on it, just in case. Mats wasn’t going to take any chances. He wasn’t about to get shot again.

\---

Jürgen had moved the cattle out of the small, small town of Reserve by the time Mats and Philipp arrived around four in the afternoon the following day. The cattle were grazing on the low-growing shrub grass that was found outside of the canyon walls near a stream that was meandering nearby. The camp for the rancher was set up about five miles outside of Reserve and there they had waited until Mats and his aid arrived.

Jürgen greeted them personally when he saw them. Mats noticed at first sight that Jürgen’s second-hand man, Sami, was watching them with a rifle of his own at the ready in his lap and didn’t relax his grip on it until he recognized Mats and Philipp. _Easy there, sport_ , Mats thought as he dismounted and stopped near Jürgen.

“What’s going on, Mr. Klinsmann? What happened?” Mats asked as he patted Paa-puuku’s neck and gave his horse a breather. Before the other man answered, Mats gave him a quick once-over, looking to see how he appeared.

Jürgen looked tired, concerned, and upset. He didn’t look like the kind of man who would be a cattle thief or a kidnapper, Mats had known that from the beginning, and he actually did look upset about what had happened. He took a deep breath before he spoke.

“We were leaving, right? Going to Greeley like I told you. Anyway, the two boys, Lukas and Bastian, had gone to check on the cattle before we all turned in for the night. It was their watch and I didn’t mean for them to be together, rather talkative when they are together and they tend to not pay attention, but regardless, they were watching together when a few men came up and they took them. The commotion woke up Sami and he woke up me. We saw them riding off to the West.”

“Did they steal anything, or just take the kids?” Mats asked, wanting more information.

Jürgen shook his head. “Just the boys. I don’t know why. I can’t imagine why anyone would want to hurt them or take them.”

Mats remained quiet to the motives of the kidnappers. There was no way he could speculate until he knew more. “How many men would you say? Did you see what they looked like?”

He aimed the second part of his question towards Sami, but Jürgen answered first. “I saw only the two, but how many were there, Sami?”

Mats had seen Jürgen’s number two man around town and knew who he was. Not that Khedira got himself into any kind of trouble. In fact it was quite the opposite. Mats made sure to keep a tab on everyone in his town, if he could, but he made sure to know who the most rowdy of the groups were. But Sami Khedira never fell into that category. He was in the ‘quiet and keep to oneself’ category; a group that was highly undervalued, Mats thought.

From what little Mats knew about him, the man had grown up with a New Mexico settler for a father and a Mexican national for a mother. Mats didn’t know much beyond that; only that Sami was the only Khedira in town and he hadn’t heard of any others, not even in Silver City. Whether that meant his relations, parents or otherwise, had passed on, Mats didn’t know. Maybe they had moved to Mexico, or gone further west. Maybe they had gone east. Maybe they had passed on, regardless, Mats didn’t know a whole hell of a lot about the rancher apart from the fact Khedira spoke good enough English with only a slight Spanish lilt to accent anything different about him. Besides the fact he had a permanent tan and his dark hair and dark eyes stood out amongst a vast majority of Sundance’s population being American settlers sprinkled with a couple English and German immigrants.

That Spanish-dipped accent came out now as he spoke. “I saw four. They grabbed the kids and left, didn’t take anything else, just the boys.”

Mats nodded and looked at Philipp for a second. The stable master was watching Jürgen and Sami also, but he had been casting looks around the others who had come over to see if they had reacted differently to what Sami and Jürgen were saying.

“Did you get a good look at the men who did it?” Mats asked Sami.

He shook his head. “It was dark and the moon wasn’t quite so bright that night.”

“Do you know anything about them? Anything that could identify these men?” Philipp asked and Sami glanced at the still-mounted Fips.

Mats watched as Sami considered it for a moment. “One was quite tall; he was the one that took Lukas. Bastian went to fight for him, I think,” Sami had gotten a concentrated look on his face as he thought about it, “that’s when the big, bulky one knocked him over the head and the other two brought their horses around and they all took off then.”

“Did you hear them say anything?” Mats asked. Sami shook his head.

“I could hear words, but I wasn’t close enough to hear what they were saying. They were speaking Spanish though.”

Mats nodded and thought of all the possible Mexican bandits in the area and the gangs that had four or more men that would possibly consider kidnapping as a favorite past time. He could think of a couple groups, but until he had further evidence…

“Which way were they headed?” Mats asked, moving over to one of the plateaus to look out over the ground to the west, into Apache land and the Arizona Territory again.

Sami moved over, holding the rifle in one hand but the muzzle was pointed to the ground. “That way.”

He pointed towards a series of hills that stretched to the horizon into mountains and Mats had heard of the ground there before. He swallowed hard. All of that was Apache Territory, and it was _not_ controlled by Cochise, but by Geronimo. If ever there was a more fearsome leader of a group of Apache, it was Geronimo.

If, and it was a big if, the Spanish-speaking bandits had taken the Jürgen boys over into Apache territory, they would be damn lucky if they survived without getting caught by the Indians. And if, another big if, they made it into the Territory, then what did they have in mind for the kids? Ransom? Murder? Mats wasn’t sure, but he didn’t like it. And that was one region of the West that he could not go after the kids easily. Damn it, they would need the Marshall after all. He sighed and kept his thoughts to himself, sparing only a glance at Fips who stared at him with a hard look of his own. At least somebody understood, Mats thought as he turned to face Jürgen once again.

“Are you going to continue the drive or head back home?”

Jürgen debated for a moment internally, looking at Sami as he did so. Mats figured that the two of them had probably had this conversation while waiting for Mats and Fips to show up. Jürgen appeared to have made a decision because he looked back to Mats.

“We will continue to Colorado, Sheriff. But I would very much appreciate any updates that you could send me when you have them. I really am worried after those boys. Absentminded though they may be, they are like my own children.”

Mats nodded, understanding that Jürgen had a paternal streak to many of his ranch-hands. Those two boys were some of his favorites, though, Mats had noticed. He doted on them considerably, considering they weren’t blood relation to him. Mats nodded and went back over to mount up on Paa-puuku. He took the horse’s reigns in hand and looked at Jürgen.

“We’ll do our best, sir. Go on ahead with your drive, we’ll do some investigating and I promise we’ll have word sent up to you on the road a piece. Y’all are going through Aragon, right?” Mats asked and both Sami and Jürgen nodded.

“That’s right, yes.”

“We’ll leave a telegram for you there. Which way are you headed after that?” Mats asked, looking between the two. If it was up to him and he were headed to Greeley, he would cross the desert plains as quickly as possible and get to the grasslands on the other side of Albuquerque, but what did he know about cattle moving? A lot, but he kept it to himself.

“Towards Old Horse Springs.” Sami provided and Mats nodded. That’s the way he would have gone. It was better to go across the plains with a whole herd of cattle instead of trying to go the shorter way over the mountains. Many of the stock would freeze, if they could have even navigated the narrow paths and rocky slopes of the ground up there, before they could make it back down the mountains and into Colorado.

“Well that’s just fine, then.” Mats replied and settled himself in the saddle. “There’s no telegraph office in Old Horse Springs,” Mats mused aloud, knowing it was little more than a farmer’s ranch on its own, but it did have a small Post Office and it was a place to stop for the night. “If we have anything to update after Aragon, we’ll send it on to Albuquerque.”

“Send it to Santa Fe,” Jürgen corrected. “We’re going to try and avoid the city as much as possible.”

“As you like.” Mats replied and took a few steps away from them on Paa-puuku. “Good luck, Mr. Klinsmann. I hope the rest of your journey goes without incident.”

“Me too, sheriff. Me too.” Jürgen replied, nodding his thanks. His expression hardened into more serious countenance. “Please find them? I’ll pay a reward for their safe return, if that helps you in your search at all.”

Mats nodded. “It might. That’s very kind of you, Mr. Klinsmann.”

“It’s the least, and believe me when I say it, the least I can do.”

Mats nodded and he tipped his hat. “We’ll get on with our looking then, sir. Good luck. Hopefully we’ll find them.”

Jürgen and the others exchanged the proper goodbyes and Mats and Fips left the campsite and headed back towards Reserve. They were gone for a few moments before Mats stopped and turned to Philipp.

“What do you think?” He asked, waiting for a response from his smart friend.

“About? Who took them? Why they took them? What the hell we’re going to do next?”

“All of the above.”

Fips shook his head and looked over the mountains looming in the distance. On the other side of those hills was Arizona Territory and the heartbeat of the Apache Nation. Walking into that armed, on a rescue mission or not, was a fool’s errand and most certainly death. Cochise had no control over those lands, and with his health in failing condition… Mats did not like the development one bit. The more he thought about it, the more he didn’t like it.

Forget the US Marshalls, Mats thought. They would likely have to get the US Cavalry involved at the very least if they would have to go into _that_ part of Apache territory. The treaty with Cochise did not extend that far north, and even if it had, relations with the Indian nation weren’t on the best terms, nor the most solid ground. Besides, it would take a hell of a lot of paperwork and bureaucratic ass-kissing to even get the Cavalry out there in the first place to take a look at the situation. By then, Mats suspected, it would be too late for the boys because they would likely have been killed by their kidnappers, or worse, the Indians.

For the US Government to even get involved, cavalry wise, they would need something—no, Mats corrected himself, _someone_ —important to make the boys’ case for them. Bastian Schweinsteiger and Lukas Podolski were the sons of immigrants who had come to America to escape the troubles of European immigrants, Mats knew. They were poor with no family wealth to speak of. They survived paying room and board at the Klinsmann ranch by working for him; they would likely never be able to afford to repay him, if they did survive, for any amount of reward money that Jürgen would dish out. Not that the German would request it, likely the opposite. But Mats knew the boys to be good-hearted and would likely want to repay him for their kindness, if they survived.

Mats sighed as he thought about it all. There wasn’t anyone they knew that could plead such a case and get it into the proper hands. No one in the capital of the Territory would care about two farm boys and the matter would be laughable in Washington D.C. to even think about getting assistance out there to help. Mats feared that if someone back in the District of Columbia took an interest in the case it wouldn’t be the right sort. Perhaps they would just use this as another bout of ammunition against the Indians and push even harder for Reform—sending the natives to reservations for ‘their own protection’. It turned Mats stomach; he understood what it was like to fight for your freedom, to fight for your nation that you believed it. He also knew very well what that sour taste of loss felt like. His country, his Confederacy, had been whipped into submission after a long, tumultuous civil war that he and his brethren had lost. He couldn’t see the matter going any better for the Indians, regardless of how many hundred years they had lived in freedom from the long-arm of the government.

Philipp had given him his moment of thought before he answered, already following down Mats’ line of thought.

“I don’t have a prairie dog’s prayer of what we’re going to do next, once we send in a telegram asking for the Marshall’s advice. As for who took the boys and why, I don’t know that either.” Fips went quiet then. “Do you think it might have been Raul’s gang?”

Mats lingered on that thought for a few moments. He debated it, finally he sighed and started Paa-puuku back towards town. He wanted to get back to Reserve and send that message before it got dark out. He didn’t trust these canyons in the daylight, forget it in the dark. Not this close to Indian territory.

“Maybe. It wouldn’t be uncharacteristic for him to kidnap somebody. But two at once?” Mats shook his head, that would be pushing it. “Let’s send the message to the Marshall. Maybe he’ll know what the fuck to do.”

Mats sighed and rode ahead back towards town. He didn’t want to think Raul Gonzalez’ gang would be responsible for that. He wouldn’t like the consequences of coming up against one of the men who led one of the worst gangs in the Territory. Not that he would be afraid of the man, only that he wouldn’t like having to take him out. He’d been shot once before by a man who had followed Gonzalez; he didn’t want to get shot another time by another man following the same twisted leader.


	10. Telegrams and Temper Tantrums

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another long chapter update \0/ A new character is introduced into the story here (technically, I guess you could consider it two, but definitely one) and I hope you like him ;) Enjoy and as always, please read and review. Thank you guys! :D
> 
> By the by, if you want to check out a great playlist for Westerns, [this one is amazing](http://8tracks.com/starrr/good-bad-ugly) and it helps me set the mood really well :D

It was easy, very easy, for Julian to remember the quiet nights back at home. He grew up on a small farm outside of Sanford in southern Maine. The only thing he really liked about living so far out of town was the fact the river, the Mousam, was nearby and he would run off and jump into it every summer when all his chores were through. People in town could do the same thing, he thought, but the kids would get caught by watchful mothers whose houses were on the riverbank and could look over the river and see them muddying their clothes. Julian had the luxury of distance between the river and his mama’s eye; he could get as dirty as he wanted in the mud, then take a swim to clean off. All he had to make sure was he dried his clothes on time before he came back.

On the nights when the desert was the hottest and the sound of the band playing in Lewandowski’s down the road mixed insufferably with the heat, Julian would close his eyes as he laid on his bunk in the jail cell, trying to blot out the sound of the mariachi band playing in the saloon. He couldn’t replace the heat or the sweat that trickled down the sides of his temples and down his back, nor could he do away with the bugs and the snakes and the scorpions. He couldn’t replace the Mexican ranch hands with Canadian fur trappers coming down from Canada to trade in Portland or Augusta or even down in New York City or Boston. And he certainly couldn’t replace the spices of Mexican or Texan foods for the heartiness of stews and duck up North.

But if he closed his eyes and found the right peace of mind, Julian could imagine himself back at home in the early morning with the sun just cracking over the horizon. The pinks of the sky hadn’t mixed with the orange of sunlight yet, but it was coming. The air would be cold this time of year and you would still need a jacket or coat to stand there, but it would be worth it. The cold and the waiting. Worth it to see the pink of the sky break the sun open while the gray of the mist clung to the fields and the river’s surface. It was worth it all to feel the first stretches of warmth on your face as the sun broke the sky gently and began to light up the darkness of the night before. The birds would be there, quietly chirping as they also woke up for the day. And always, always the sound of the river would be soft-touched as it glided over the rocks on the way to the Atlantic.

There would never be anything more beautiful to Julian, nothing at all, than watching the sun rise over the Mousam River and then heading on home to have breakfast before beginning work for the day. Not even the sight of the desert’s beautiful temptations could sway a man from the true beauty of his childhood or the simplicity of a morning like that.

He dreamed of it that night, the one before the Marshall came. It was easy enough to recall the setting, so many days he had spent on that riverside as a boy. His dream entailed he was sitting on a rock, casting a line out into the river, hoping for something to bite, but nothing ever did. All he did was sit and sit, waiting for something, but nothing would ever come. He had had the dream before, several times in his life but even more so since he had moved West, but nothing had ever changed. He would just sit and wait but nothing would ever happen that didn’t involve trying his patience.

Until that night.

He finally caught something, a huge likely thirteen-pound Atlantic Salmon. 

A lucky catch, he thought as he woke up. Sitting on the side of his bed as the day around him started with the sounds of morning, he wondered what it meant.

\----

Julian wasn’t quite sure what to expect when he met the United States Marshal that was coming to Sundance. He hadn’t ever met one of the Marshal’s Service formally before, except he thought he might have once on the train south when he had been on the one running from Chicago down to Austin, Texas. Julian wasn’t sure, but he never asked either. The man didn’t seem intimidating enough to be a Marshal, but one never knew these days and Julian had lost interest in him once the man had gotten off in Wichita, Kansas*.

He had debated for most of the morning on whether or not he should go on down to Silver City to greet the man as he came off the train from Albuquerque but he decided against it. What if something happened while he was gone? What would Mats say then? He wasn’t going to abandon the city, even if it was only for a couple of hours. So instead, he had done the rounds and tried to not look nervous.

Any other time when the Marshal came into town it was different, or so Mats and Fips had said. Julian hadn’t ever been around when he came through. According to the two former Confederates, the Marshal would stop in for a few days and take a look at their supplies, send on in a few requisition orders if anything was needed, and he would take charge of any prisoners that needed to go to trial whether in a Federal or State court. He would only be there for a few days, no more than a week, before he would be off to the next small town and then back to the capital of the Territory until it was time for him to make new rounds. Julian wondered if he got paid more to work only part-time like that. The more he thought about it, the more he pushed aside the immature thought; of course the man wouldn’t only work part-time, but he wasn’t day-in and day-out all day in it every day either. Julian felt like that made himself better than the Marshal in some small way.

He hadn’t hear much about the man, apart from his name. He didn’t know what he looked like or anything like that, he only knew that he would recognize the ‘United States Marshal Service’ badge that would be pinned to his chest. Julian hoped that no one would try to play a prank on him and have an imposter show up. That would be embarrassing, but he wouldn’t put it past some of the locals to try and trip him up like that.

As Mats and Fips had told him before, whenever the Marshal would come it would have Sundance on ceremony, all kitted out to the nines. Even Lewandowski’s appeared to be somewhat respectable when the Marshal was in town. Mats had said that not even Satan Bob would go against the Marshal because he ‘didn’t want to go back to jail’. Julian never had found out what exactly Satan Bob had done that had landed him in the federal judicial system, but he guessed it had something to do with less-than-reputable business practices. He wouldn’t have been surprised in the least.

Julian had done his rounds around the town that morning and everything appeared to be functioning normally. As usual, no one was overly-chatty to him and Julian didn’t mind that at all. Not today. He was nervous and he hoped he made a good impression. Today, he didn’t mind if the former-Southerners thought he was another uppity Yankee; they didn’t know the Marshal was coming in as far as Julian knew. But the rumor of the missing Klinsmann boys had somehow circled around, likely from the hasty departure of Mats and Fips headed north in the direction Jürgen had gone. Julian was never going to cease to be amazed by how quickly gossip travelled in a small town. How everyone knew everyone else’s business before lunch time was something he couldn’t grasp. If only a person could travel as fast as those words.

After his rounds, he had taken a permanent seat outside the jail and was watching the main road from the south and Silver City. He didn’t recline like he normally would have; he didn’t want to get caught unawares by the Marshal. The townspeople seemed to notice his anxiety and his unsettled nerves. They kept staring at him but still none of them would come over to find out what was bothering him. Besides, if the Marshal showed up unannounced, Julian wondered what Satan Bob would do. The amusement of the possibility of catching the man unawares kept Julian from working himself into too much of a state.

“Where did your boss go?” Marco had strolled around somewhere around noon. He leaned against the rail of the bottom steps and Julian sighed.

“Didn’t you get enough of him telling you to leave off yesterday?” Julian asked with a raised eyebrow. He didn’t move or relax in the least.

“Clearly not.” Marco grinned before he gave Julian another look-over. “You know, for a Yankee, you’re pretty cute. Are you sure you don’t want me to take a look at just how cute you are without clothes on?”

“I’m fine, thanks.” Julian replied dryly and he thought he was blushing. His face was certainly hot enough to have flushed. The main street was pretty quiet, but a few riders had come up from the south and had dispersed through town except one who was headed his way, but Julian thought he was going to the stables.

“That’s a shame. What has you all out of sorts anyway? You haven’t leaned back in that chair in an hour, sitting on the edge of it like that can’t be good for your back…”

“None of your business.” Julian replied. He cleared his throat from where it had gotten suddenly high-pitched a moment ago. “Why don’t you clear on out? I’m sure you could be doing something else instead of bothering a deputy.”

“Oh, yes, you’re right. However, I _want_ to torment the deputy. It’s fun.” Marco grinned and continued to lean further onto the rail. The rider that had been coming up the main street stopped his horse behind Marco. Julian was going to call out to him, and would have, but he recognized something about the man’s attire and his eyes snapped to the man’s face really quickly.

“Tormenting a deputy isn’t the best course of action for a young man on a nice day like this one, I would have thought.” The man said, accent sticking out like a sore thumb. Julian almost cried from relief when he heard it.

“Why don’t you find yourself some business elsewhere, mister?” Marco asked without looking to see who he was addressing. Julian felt the delight stirring in him and waited to see what the other man was going to do.

“Everywhere is my business, boy. Now why don’t you scamper off back to your own hole in the wall and leave the business to real men.” The man started to dismount off his horse and Julian jumped up real quick and pulled his hat off in respect. He heard Marco scoff and turn to glance over his shoulder as the stranger landed on the ground with his back facing both of them.

“Who the hell do you think you are? The president?” Marco huffed again and rolled his eyes, right up until the man turned around and the slightly unpolished silver star encircling it with the words ‘U.S. Marshal’ stamped into the metal.

Julian had never seen Marco look unhappy about anything, apart from when Mats wouldn’t give him the time of day. But this was different than that. He didn’t look unhappy, nor did he appear scared. In fact, he looked as if someone had just shoved a live bug down his throat and he was trying to get used to the sensation of something he hadn’t been expecting at all. For the first time since he had arrived in Sundance, Julian watched Marco become speechless.

The Marshal leaned in close enough to Marco so that he could speak in a deadly-serious tone without having to shout, not that it would have made much difference. He appeared to be a soft-spoken man and that was scary enough, Julian decided.

“Clear out of my sight.” The Marshal said and Marco didn’t argue once. He left the man and Julian without a second glance and headed back straight to Lewandowski’s saloon.

The Marshal shook his head and tied his horse at the hitching post before he gave it a light pat and then turned his attention to Julian. The deputy swallowed in nervousness again. He could see why everyone went to such great lengths to make a good impression on this man. He had the authority and the power to arrest anyone and his word could trump whatever Mats or the regional sheriff had to say. In essence, _his_ word was law.

“And you are Mats’ new deputy, I assume.” He replied and then came up on the porch. Where the Marshal had been taller than Marco he was now even-level with Julian and they could look into one another’s eyes. Regardless, Julian felt very much like a kid in front of the older man.

Julian nodded, hoping his words didn’t trip over his mouth as they came out. He offered his hand politely. “Julian Draxler, deputy to the sheriff of Sundance.”

The man’s lips twitched a little at his accent, of which Julian had acknowledged his own, but it was tainted with something else underlying the Northerner in it.

“Miroslav Klose of the United States Marshal’s service.” The Marshal, Miroslav, shook Julian’s hand and then he released it to indicate into the jail. “Shall we?”

Julian nodded and stepped back to let him go first. He followed after and out of manners asked if the man would like anything to drink. Miroslav declined politely, saying he had a nice lunch in Silver City before he had come on up.

“Tell me what you know about the abduction.”

 _Straight to business, well all right then._ Julian replied and he nodded, bringing the dispatch that Mr. Kramer had received from Reserve the night before. He handed the piece of paper that he picked up off of Mats’ desk and handed it over to the Marshal, who took a seat in Mats’ chair.

“This is all I have so far. They haven’t sent any updates since.” Julian replied and watched as the Marshal read the document. It was a decent sized telegram, must have cost them a pretty penny, but it didn’t leave much by way of fact. Julian never knew what to do when someone was reading something in front of him, so he took a seat on the opposite side of the desk and waited to be spoken to.

Curiously, he did study the man just to see if the legend he had created in his own mind matched that of the man in front of him. He didn’t have a beard, very clean-shaven in appearance. The dust from the road was coating his clothes, but that couldn’t be helped in the arid climate. He wore all black, black trousers and overcoat, apart from his white shirt that appeared to be pressed. His bowtie was the only splotch of color on him; it was a navy blue, tied into a bow with short ribbon trails that ended in a nice loop. His hat, which he had taken off and rested on the hook just inside the door, was also black but it had a band around it with a silver buckle. He looked very much a professional and if it hadn’t been the size of his body, the badge on his chest, and just the aura he had about him, Julian could have imagined the steely look in his eyes would render anyone defenseless in his presence. Julian sure as hell wouldn’t want to cross this man in a dark alley that’s for sure.

“I take it you have read this,” Miroslav asked, holding up the telegram. Julian nodded. “Very well.” Miroslav didn’t seem disappointed by the fact that Julian had been overly curious and read the dispatch intended for the Marshal. “Do you know the two boys that have gone missing?”

Julian shrugged. “I know of them, more like. They don’t come to town much, except for church on Sunday and if Mr. Klinsmann needs them to pick up something from the General Store. They’re good boys though, if a bit troublesome.”

Miroslav nodded. “I remember Lukas and the blond one that I assume is this Bastian one. Inseparable?” Julian nodded in agreement. “That’s what I thought. And there’s no chance that they would have gone off with this gang on their own?”

Julian shook his head. “No, I don’t think so. They aren’t the type and besides, they would never have left Mr. Klinsmann without their help and put him in a spot like that.”

Miroslav nodded and leaned back in Mats’ chair, looking just as home there as Julian suspected he would anywhere. He was a soft-spoken man, but something about Miroslav just commanded the room. Julian was inspired by how well he could do that without really saying much of anything. Perhaps he was just star-struck, he thought.

“We have quite a situation on our hands. If it is true and this gang has taken those boys into Indian Territory, there is not much I can do. Geronimo wouldn’t listen to me anyway, and I have no authority on those lands. We could try and get the Indian Agents involved, I suppose.” Miroslav lapsed off into quiet there and appeared to be considering it. “I will have to talk to Mats about this. I guess it could be done, but only if done so _gracefully_ instead of in the loud, obnoxious ways of the Texans.”

That was the first remark Julian had heard about the Texans since he had arrived. He thought a similar thing; the Texans were _nuts_ , in the best way possible, but they were a rowdy bunch. He never thought he would hear anyone agree with his private thoughts.

“Now where is it you are from, son?” Miroslav asked and Julian refocused his undivided attention on the Marshal. “You are clearly not from around here and I find it very interesting that Mats would have himself a fellow Northerner for a deputy.”

“I’m from Maine, sir.” Julian supplied and Miroslav nodded. “May I ask about yourself?”

“Michigan.” Miroslav smiled a little and Julian thought it was nice to have a similar-minded Northern kindred spirit _here_ of all places. He decided he liked the Marshal right away.

“You’re right sir. Mats isn’t overly fond of the state of my birth, but I figure one day he’ll get over it.” Julian smiled a little and Miroslav echoed the gesture.

“I like you, son.” Miroslav tapped the desk and then glanced over at the wanted posters before he looked back to Julian. Somehow Julian didn’t mind much when he was called ‘son’ as opposed to ‘kid’. “I’m sure you give Mats enough hell to keep him on his toes.”

“I do my best, sir.”

“Call me Miroslav or Miro, I don’t mind.” The man waved his had dismissively. Now that part of the question was answered about his statehood, Julian wondered just what it was that was underlining that accent of his. Miroslav must have noticed because he asked, “What is it?”

“Your accent is all. It’s…unique. I just wondered is all…” Julian trailed off and blushed a little.

Miroslav nodded, looking approvingly at Julian. “Most people seem to think it’s what all Michigan people sound like. I guess that can’t be helped if you have never been. Have you been?”

Julian nodded truthfully. “One summer when I was a kid, my dad took my brothers and me and we went up to the Lakes.”

Miro smiled and seemed pleased by this. Julian never forgot the sight of the Great Lakes and just how vast they were. He wondered if Miroslav ever returned back up there, or if he missed them at all. The wilds of Michigan was a completely different frontier to the one here in the desert. Julian wondered if Miro ever got homesick the way he did.

“My father also took me to the Lakes when I was young.” Miroslav smiled slightly, but he seemed lost in a more-distant memory than Julian had been. “Only that was in the old country, in what used to be called Poland but is now divided.” He looked unhappy when he said that and Julian’s curiosity grew, but he did not ask. Miroslav continued. “My family emigrated to the United States when I was a small boy. Any accent that you may not recognize is probably the European one still in me.”

That explained it, Julian thought. He smiled a little out of politeness, because he wasn’t sure what to say when someone tells of an event such as that one. Miroslav seemed to be content with the quiet for a moment before he stood up suddenly. Julian jumped up also, afraid to look impolite in front of the other man. Miro raised an amused eyebrow at the quickness of his action but he didn’t comment on it verbally.

“Well, I will dispatch a telegram to our friends in Reserve. Then I will return back here. You may take this time to get some lunch of your own, it looks as though you could use it, Mr. Draxler.” Miroslav replied and Julian nodded sheepishly. He had been growing rather hungry, having skipped breakfast, and been too nervous to eat.

“Thank you, sir. Miro. Thank you Miroslav.” Julian stumbled and he felt himself flush again. Miroslav chuckled softly but turned to leave, making sure he picked up his hat before he left the office.

“Relax, Draxler. I’m not going to arrest you unless you break the law considerably.” Miroslav left the office then and Julian exhaled sharply. His nerves were slightly settled, but he still felt flustered. He normally wished he could act as cool and unaffected as Mats did, but now he wished he had the clear-headed calm that Miroslav seemed to have. Perhaps it was because he didn’t interact with Miroslav everyday and he was a new person to study, perhaps it was because Miroslav technically had more authority than Mats did. Either way, Julian found the Marshal to be very interesting.

Taking him up on his offer, Julian donned his hat and shut the jail door behind him and headed off to the cantina for a mid-day meal.

\---

It had been too long since the Marshal had come to Sundance, Miroslav thought as he laid back on the bed in the hotel room. He wasn’t going to set foot in Lewandowski’s saloon if he could help it, having taken a room from the Müller family’s hotel down the road a little from the saloon and the jail. It had definitely been too long, he thought again as the youngest Müller boy, and Miroslav’s personal favorite for his own amusements, climbed off of him and settled against Miroslav’s side.

The Marshal put his arm around the kid and pulled him closer, kissing his forehead as he did so.

“I missed you, Opa.” Thomas murmured quietly. Miroslav nodded and rested his head against Thomas’ as he did so. Only this boy called him ‘opa’ because only this boy did Miroslav allowed to say such things.

He wasn’t sure what it was about the boy that brought about such feelings of affection and sentimentality, but then again Miroslav rarely let himself feel things for anyone. Attachments, especially in the West, were fleeting at the best of times when there were so many things out there that could kill you. Disease, criminals, Indians, the heat and the weather, the wildlife, it could all come to a head and you would never know anything had gone wrong until it was too late and you were hopefully lucky enough to find yourself resting in a pine box six foot under, if not worse. Miroslav had seen many an awful thing in his time as a Marshal in the Western territories. If anyone was going to preach about getting attached to someone and the dangers of it, it would have been him.

Yet he still found himself with the youngest boy in his arms. The boy was a member of one of the nicest, if not most boisterous, families in all of Sundance and the Territory. _If they only knew_ , Miroslav thought as he kept the young man close to him. He would lucky to survive with his life, if they ever found out. He would likely be hung and lynched. He was rather fond of his neck where it was.

It was dark out, the sun having set hours ago beyond the hills to the west. The air had cooled down considerably and Miroslav was glad for it. It was far too hot down here, but he had gotten used to it. If he ever got the chance one day to return to Michigan, he didn’t know how he would ever survive a winter there again. The months upon months of ice and snow, sometimes higher than he could stand as a man, would drive him crazy. At least here there was a different kind of isolation, a nicer one than freezing to death in a blanket of white flakes.

Thomas shifted over his body, sliding his leg between Miroslav’s and he held on to the man’s torso as he relaxed into sleep. Miro’s fingers were trailing along the boy’s back slowly, lazily and he heard Thomas fall asleep as his breathing grew slow and cadenced. He knew why the boy was being clingier than usual to him.

As he had said, Thomas had missed him, but that wasn’t all of it, though Miroslav suspected it was enough. The other half of it was the fact that Miroslav had already told him that he was going to be leaving after Mats and Philipp in the morning at first light. Thomas had protested, not knowing why Miroslav had to leave so soon after arriving. Miroslav hadn’t told him why; it was still an official matter after all, but Thomas had guessed it was about Bastian and Lukas. The kid was smart and he had heard the gossip; at least he could put two and two together.

He had wanted to come along as well, but Miroslav had refused him. ‘It’ll be dangerous and you’re not deputized and I don’t want anything to happen to you’, Miroslav had told him and Thomas had sulked, of course. Miroslav had made it up to him with his kisses and his touches, at least he thought he had, and had promised the boy to share the room with him for the entire night before he left.

Thomas was a sweet boy at heart; Miroslav loved it about him. He watched the boy’s eyes stay closed as his head rested on Miro’s chest and the older man felt the same stirring of affection he always had whenever he was this close to the young man. There was something about Thomas’ entire personality that reminded him of what it was like to be _young_ again; young and carefree, with the entire world in front of you. He loved that freedom, craved it like a drug. He hadn’t had such luxuries when he was Thomas’ age.

The Marshal’s family had come from the land of occupied Prussia that had once been the Commonwealth of Poland and Lithuania less than fifty years before. When he was young to escape the troubles brewing with Russia, Prussia, and the German Empire, they had settled in Michigan in an area with lots of other Polish families having done the same thing. They had made their settlement work and somehow had survived a harsh, harsh winter. Miro remembered how much he had liked the snow when he was a brand-new American. It was one of the few things he could relate to in America that was still similar to his home country. When he was older than Thomas’ age the War Between the States had broken out and he had signed up to fight for the Union. It had been the right thing to do, he had told his mother as he had left for active service. He hadn’t ever seen her again after that day in 1862. She had died the following winter of pneumonia.

As he had grown up and the years passed, the more things European about him had faded, but he always kept the thin slice of his accent that hung to his words. He felt as though that was fitting; he wasn’t a European anymore, having given that citizenship up for his American one, granted he had been only a boy at the time, but he still could keep a distinctive worldly trait in his voice.

Perhaps he really was getting sentimental in his old age.

Miroslav quieted his thoughts and closed his eyes and readied himself for the morning. Perhaps if he could rouse Thomas early enough, they could make love one more time before he had to go. But that would only be if he could get the boy awake; that was easier said than done. Miroslav fell asleep being grateful for how it was to have such an innocent, sweetheart that loved him when he felt that he was too old for such ventures.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As Rifmelody was kind to correct me, I have made a few edits to this chapter to correct the European history I had put in. My apologies.
> 
> Also there is a small reference to a Kansas Marshal (who isn't a Marshal yet at the time of this story) that you [may have heard of before](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Wyatt_Earp).


	11. A Stranger and A Request

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so close to being done with this (the NaNo part of this, not the actual story, relax) that I'm so excited. Less than 10,000 words left. I'm gonna try and get it done this week, so lots of updates for y'all :DDD
> 
> Thank you for reading and as always, you're all wonderful people :*
> 
> By the way, yes I know Simon is younger than Thomas, but for this, we're pretending that's not the case. Anyway... enjoy :D

The decision not to learn to speak Spanish when he had the chance was something he was really coming to regret, Bastian thought as he overheard his and Lukas’ abductors talking by the campfire. They didn’t even bother to lower their tones, having already discovered earlier that the two of them didn’t understand what they were saying when they spoke in Spanish. They had ordered the two off of the horses, but they hadn’t understood and it lead to the charming one, as Bastian had considered him, to translate their wishes. The Charming One understood English and spoke it well enough to the point where Bastian didn’t even feel comfortable whispering to Lukas unless he had to.

There were four of them. The Charming One, the Ugly one, the Leader, and the Follower. Lukas and Bastian had recognized the traits in all of them since they had arrived. They didn’t use names, Bastian thought he would have recognized that if they had, even in the rapidness of their speech. It seemed as they were relying on aliases or nicknames and he couldn’t understand those within the flurry of other things they said to differentiate to get an identification on them. So he had named them in his head.

The Leader was the one he hadn’t interacted with the most, but who was always riding out in front of the others and was the one that called the shots. He was taller than the others and a bit more muscular, second only in physique size to the Ugly one. He had dark hair and darker eyes and didn’t speak much at all. He was a little too quiet for Bastian’s liking.

The Follower was the one that was second to him; at least it appeared so, anyway. If he wasn’t, then the Charming One definitely was. The Follower was the tallest of all of them, but in a slender way. He had had blue eyes, Bastian had noticed when the Follower had pulled him off the horse. He was still strong and had manhandled both Basti and Lukas while tying them up as they made camp for the night. He was talkative and had earned more than a few glares from the Leader and the others in the group. He also liked to laugh, Bastian had noticed.

The Ugly One was the muscle and from the knot on his head, the one who had knocked Bastian out. He certainly had his name to live up to, or rather, down to. He wasn’t attractive in the slightest, but he didn’t seem to be ugly and dumb. He was smart enough to realize that Bastian and Lukas had tried to make an escape after noticing the Follower’s binds had been loose. He had retied them tighter than before and now their fingers were growing more numb as a result.

The Charming One was the dangerous one, Bastian thought. He had a nice face and spoke English so he could understand them. If the others spoke their language, they didn’t give it away. But the Charmer had a way with words, in both languages apparently, that made him seem to be spewing words of pure silk and nice pleasantries. Something wasn’t right about him, though, and Bastian thought that as easily as he could say such golden words, he could likely twist someone’s arm until it snapped off. The Charming One was one Bastian and Lukas would never have to turn their back on for fear of being shot in it.

After another full day of riding away from the Klinsmann herd, they had gone due west as far as Lukas could tell and had whisper-told Bastian while their captors had stopped for the night. The sun had already set and the desert was rapidly cooling off. A fire was being struck with the brush and dead sprigs of wood that could be found nearby. Once again, the Ugly One had tied the two of them up by the horses with a fancy style knot that was too hard to figure out how to untie without drawing attention to themselves. Neither of them had anything sharp, either, much to their dismay.

The Leader was quietly watching the Follower make them all dinner, another round of some sort of spicy stew, Bastian thought. The Ugly One was keeping watch around everything in the surrounding mountains and the Charmer was speaking to the Leader. He was speaking, but the Leader appeared not to be listening because eventually the Leader told him to be quiet—Bastian could recognize _cállate!_ when he heard it—and the Charmer had eventually lapsed off into silence.

Bastian glanced over to Lukas and he swallowed hard. While they had been riding, they had taken a southern turn, if the position of the sun was anything to go by, and if that was the case, then they likely would be heading towards Mexico and would be across the border in several days. He and Lukas shared a glance and Lukas shook his head. _Not now_ , he seemed to be saying and Bastian agreed silently before he looked up to the stars in the sky overhead.

If anyone came after them, how would they know they had turned southward? They could be lost and never, ever be found in the giant deserts of Mexico. Bastian wasn’t going to be afraid about it; they had to get to the border first, and that meant going through Indian lands.

They were being watched; everyone knew it. The Indians hadn’t come outright and shown themselves, but they were stalking their group as they crossed over their land. Bastian really hoped no bloodshed occurred; he didn’t want to be saved from one group of bandits only to be scalped by another. He suppressed a shudder and leaned the weight of his body into Lukas. The younger boy leaned into him also and a light, delicate brush of lips crossed his temple. Bastian took comfort in the gesture and closed his eyes to wait for some sleep.

He already figured their captors weren’t going to feed them anything, they hadn’t the night before, and he was proven right. After a little while, the fire was doused and the group of outlaws made ready for bed. The Ugly One surrendered his watch for the night to the Follower, and Bastian settled against against Lukas’ side and a rock as they readied themselves for sleep also.

Lost to his drowsy state, Bastian wasn’t sure what happened or who it was that roused him, but he knew that it was still very dark out when he stirred awake. He came to his senses slowly and still felt Lukas beside him and he was relieved to hear the breathing of the boy next to him. He would have gone back to sleep but he heard a soft sound, like the rustle of a soft-soled shoe on the rocks behind his head. A shiver of fear went down his spine and Bastian stayed very still, hardly daring to breathe for fear of being seen. Was it a person? An Indian? Was it a snake? There wasn’t more that he would rather do than jump up and turn a torch to the source of the sound to reveal itself, but he couldn’t. Likely whichever guard was watching them now, would have shot him if he so much as twitched the wrong way.

He breathed quietly, nervousness growing in him when he heard more of the footsteps. They were coming up towards him and Lukas. He wasn’t sure what unsettled him the most: the fact that he heard their approach in the darkness, or the fact that he was absolutely positive that it wasn’t one of their captors that was doing the lurking around. From the corner of his eye, he could see the Follower facing the mountains by the campfire about fifty yards away from where he and Lukas had been tied up.

Bastian didn’t move nor tilt his head to see if Lukas was awake also. He kind of hoped the other boy was just so that he could wonder with someone whether or not he actually had heard someone. At the same time, he was hoping Lukas wasn’t. For some reason, he felt there was an urge of danger for Lukas to be awake also, regardless on if there was something out there or not.

Soon enough, Bastian had his answer. The footsteps stopped a few feet behind his head and then he felt the sand shift underneath his hand as someone leaned closer and placed their hand over his mouth. Bastian would have bit down on the offending digit and kicked out, but something told him not to. Perhaps it was the soft-spoken perfect American accent he heard and also the words the man was saying as the stranger shook Bastian to what he perceived to be awake.

“Don’t struggle. Trust me, be quiet now and come with me. Don’t move too much to draw attention.” Bastian nodded slowly and the stranger pulled his hand away from Bastian’s mouth to move around and wake Lukas up the same way.

When Lukas startled awake, so he had been asleep Bastian thought, Bastian quickly squeezed his hand to calm him. A moment later their bindings were cut through with a knife and as the stranger had asked, the quietly and slowly shifted away from the rock and followed his lead as he disappeared behind a few of the rocks and shrub brush. They all made sure to keep close to the ground to not draw any unwanted attention and they disappeared into the shadows.

The stranger led them over the hills until they were far enough away that they could stand up hindered. He let them rest against the side of one of the larger cliffs on the back side of the mountain away from their former camp. The moon was little more than a sliver so there wasn’t enough light to shed any idea on who their rescuer had been. It was only now that Bastian really hoped that this person wasn’t a psycho that had saved them from one awful situation into the chasm of another.

“Why did you save us?” Lukas whispered and Bastian was glad he wasn’t the only one who had thought that. “Who are you?”

The man let out a small smile and stepped into what little bit of light there was from the moon. Bastian gasped and Lukas’ eyes widened. The stranger wasn’t a stranger at all. He shook his head and he glanced to the tops of the mountains.

“Let’s keep going. Geronimo’s scouts were out earlier and I don’t want to explain ourselves to them. Come on.”

The two boys nodded and followed their friend away from the cliffs’ side and headed down the mountain.

\---

Miroslav was putting his boots on when Thomas finally woke up. The older man had tried a little earlier to rouse him, but that wasn’t possible as the young man wouldn’t even stir. Miro had given up and had instead gone down to have breakfast with Mrs. Müller and a few of her staff. They had had a pleasant conversation and Miroslav had inquired about possible available men to ride out with him. She had promised to look into it quickly as he got ready, and then he had returned upstairs to dress for the day.

He had felt more than seen Thomas’ eyes on him and was correct when he glanced up from his boots. The younger one smiled at him and Miroslav did also. Then Thomas seemed to remember where Miroslav was headed.

“Can’t I go too?” He asked, shifting to sit up.

“No. You’re not deputized and I’m not taking you for you to get left behind, lost, or otherwise hurt.” Miroslav looked back to his boots to avoid looking at Thomas’ upset face and he instead readjusted to get his boots on comfortably.

He heard Thomas’ feet hit the ground and he got up and started over towards the older man. He felt the brush of his body go behind him before Thomas’ arms wrapped around his body and his weight leaned into Miro’s back. Ever so quietly, so sweetly, Thomas spoke.

“Please, Opa? I promise not to get lost and follow any orders you give me. You _know_ how good I am at that anyway…”

Miroslav resisted a sigh. He did know just how good Thomas was at following orders. The kid was an expert at it, but only if he was pleasurably rewarded. The older man did sigh at that train of thought and he lifted his own hand to squeeze those of Thomas’.

“It’ll be dangerous, Thomas. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“I’ll be fine, please?”

Miroslav was going to protest and deny him once again when Thomas’ mother came by and knocked on his door. He felt Thomas freeze behind him, but years and years of practice at being level-headed, not to mention a cool-demeanor of his job, Miroslav called out.

“Yes, Mrs. Müller? Forgive me for not letting you in, I’m not quite dressed yet.”

They both heard an embarrassed laugh before she spoke. “Oh, I’m sorry, Marshal. I was just going to let you know that I couldn’t find any of the boys. It’s too early for the farmhands to come into town and I didn’t think you would want to wait. If you want, I can send one of the butler’s out and round up a few?”

Thomas shifted around in front of Miroslav and pouted. Miroslav shook his head and Thomas put his hands clasped together underneath his chin. Miroslav resisted a sigh and called back out to Thomas’ mother.

“No, that won’t be necessary. I’ll find someone.”

“Well, if you’re sure then. I could always send one of my boys with you? I’m sure I could get Simon to go with you…?”

Miroslav was privately amused by the look on Thomas’ face when his older brother’s name was mentioned instead of his own. However, Miroslav had to answer, so he did. “No, ma’am. I think I’ll be fine without either of your boy’s help, but I do sincerely appreciate the offer.”

“Yes, sir. Well, whenever you’re ready come on down. I’ll make sure you have some biscuits and some other things before you leave.”

“Very much obliged, ma’am.” He exchanged final pleasantries with Klaudia before she left and he turned back to Thomas. With his voice still quiet just in case Thomas’ mother was still listening, Miroslav continued. “You’re not going. That’s final.”

This didn’t appear to be upsetting to Thomas at all. In fact, he looked rather happy about something. Miroslav was concerned, but then he had a feeling of dread settle in his stomach when the boy spoke.

“You need men to go with you. I know two, three including myself, that would be willing to go and do anything you say.”

“You’re not going, who are the other two?”

“Manuel Neuer and Mesut Ozil. Both great horsemen, farm hands, and we all know Bastian and Lukas and want them found. We’re all good friends.” Thomas looked smug again. “But you won’t get them without me. They won’t go for just you; I would have to ask. And I’m not going to ask unless you say I can go to, and mean it.”

He crossed his arms over his chest and looked Miroslav dead in the eye. The older man sighed. At that moment, the rising sun crossed the horizon and light began to pour into the room he had let for the night. There wasn’t much time; he needed to get moving. He didn’t have time to do interviews and get men deputized and ready to ride out before it would be noon. If Thomas had a few good men that could be ready to go in a short space of time, then that would be perfect. But was it worth getting Thomas involved and possibly hurt? Absolutely not.

Miroslav shook his head and in a pleading tone addressed him. “Please Thomas, please…” He reached out and pulled Thomas closer by one of his hands. He looked up into the boy’s eyes and he already knew he was fighting a losing battle before he spoke. “Please stay here? For your mama’s sake?”

Thomas shook his head. Quietly, he spoke just as seriously. “I want to go too, Miro. Please? I promise, I _swear_ , I’ll do anything you ask. I just want to go. I’ll be helpful. I’m not stupid. I’m not afraid. I know I could get hurt or worse. I just want to help. They’re my friends too. I could be of some use. Please?”

Miroslav sighed and pulled Thomas down for a kiss. Their lips connected and it was just like every other time; the sparks caught between them and pushed ahead and started a wildfire in the process. Whatever it was about the younger man had Miroslav giving in, just as he almost always did.

“If you get hurt—”

“I _won’t_.”

“If you get hurt,” Miroslav squeezed his hands around Thomas’, “I’ll never forgive myself.”

“And if you go and get yourself hurt or worse, I’ll never forgive _my_ self. You have to take me with you, Opa. You have to.”

Miroslav was quiet for a good long while before he finally nodded his agreement and pulled Thomas close into his lap and held him tightly. Thomas snuggled close and they shared another fire-searing kiss. They sat for a moment or two, not long enough in both of their opinions, before Miroslav gave him a squeeze.

“But only if your mother agrees to it.”

Thomas groaned and slumped into the Marshal’s body.

\---

Julian had the coffee ready for the Marshal when he arrived that morning and he was waiting for further instruction. He was still really hoping that he could go too, even though he knew the likelihood of that was minimal since he still didn’t have anyone else to watch the town if he rode out. And he certainly wasn’t going to deputize Erik for a few hours.

Miroslav arrived looking slightly worn out, which Julian thought was odd considering he had turned in early the night before, but maybe he just didn’t like the beds in the hotel? Maybe they weren’t as comfortable as the ones back home in Albuquerque, Julian thought before he offered the Marshal a cup of fresh hot coffee. Miroslav downed it and was pouring a second one before he addressed Julian for the day.

“I’ve assembled a small posse, and we are going to head north to help Mats. I trust you have everything under control?” Miroslav turned to him with a raised eyebrow and Julian nodded. He still didn’t want to fail to meet Miroslav’s expectations, even if he was personally disappointed he wasn’t going to be able to assist. 

“Who are you taking with you?” He asked and went to pick up the piece of paper he had retrieved earlier that morning.

Miroslav set the empty cup down on the desk and faced the deputy, who was on his way back to hand him the telegram from Reserve that had arrived in the middle of the night. Miroslav took the paper before he answered.

“Only a couple of boys that I could find. Manuel Neuer, Mesut Ozil, and the Müller kid.” Miroslav replied, though Julian thought he heard a bit of annoyance when he said the last name.

“Thomas is going?” Julian asked surprised. He was a young one compared to the other two. There was no mistaking it the second time around, a look of irritation did cross Miroslav’s face when he asked.

“Yes. He is going also.” Miroslav replied shortly and then began to read the document. Julian shook his head and turned back to the jail. He had already read the missive again and he knew what it said.

Mats and Philipp had scouted around the nearby area on the western side of Reserve but of course the bandits had already cleared through by the time they had arrived and searched the outskirts of the town. They spoke to a source in the town, they hadn’t named the person so Julian didn’t think that part really mattered, but apparently the person was reliable enough to indicate that the outlaws had travelled through the town on the way across the gorge into the mountains. They had had to cross a small creek and had done so in the middle of the night before riding on through. The two Klinsmann boys had been on the back of the horses as they had gone through town and disappeared into the hills.

Mats had replied to whatever Miroslav had sent in his telegram, advising him of the situation with the northern Apache and was awaiting further advice before proceeding. He had expressed concerns over the trail growing cold and had advised that he and Fips would be skirting the edge of Indian territory from the high ground to see if they couldn’t spot the bandits or the kids, in hopes they had made an escape. The last few words he had sent was that they would be camping at the edge of the mountains and would be waiting further word from Miroslav before they would proceed into the Arizona wilderness in pursuit.

“Well there truly is no time to delay.” Miroslav said and he put the telegram on the desk and secured his gun belt. “Send a dispatch to Reserve that says we’re on the way and I’m bringing a few men with me, don’t say how many and that we will arrive before sundown. Advise him not to proceed without an accompaniment of myself, understand?”

Julian nodded and Miroslav gave him a nod. Some part of Julian wanted to say ‘godspeed’ but he didn’t. That would have been a tad much, he thought as he followed Miroslav out onto the porch. He felt as though he should say something though, because he wasn’t sure when he would see the Marshal again and he had greatly enjoyed meeting him.

“Good luck,” he decided was the best thing to say so he did. Miroslav gave him a smile and mounted his horse which had been brought over by Erik from the stables.

“Thank you, son. I look forward to seeing you again soon.” Miroslav mounted up and tipped his hat to the deputy before he took off on horseback in the direction of the northern road out of town. Julian watched for a moment or two before he saw three young boys join him and he shook his head. He wondered how Thomas had weaseled his way into going as well; Miroslav didn’t seem like the type of man who would take a young kid along on something as dangerous and important as this without a good reason.

Julian turned to walk towards the post office and he refused to feel jealous over the young Müller boy.


	12. Making Plans

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Almost done with the NaNo! I hope y'all like this chapter :)

Mats saw them coming from a ways off before they arrived. It was hard to miss the telltale cloud of smoke the four riders brought with them as they came up from the south. He and Fips had made camp on one of the highest hills, almost a small mountain really, outside of Reserve. While they had been up there, they had been looking for any sign of either the boys or the riders into the West and the Indian territories. Mats made his way down the hill that he and Fips had been on when he saw the riders. The sun wasn’t quite to the horizon behind the mountains yet, when Mats watched their final approach and they came to a stop just on the outskirts of Reserve. He looked up at the lead rider with his hand held up to his eyes to prevent the sun from blinding him.

“Good to see you, Marshal.” Mats said by way of greeting as the Marshal dismounted with a soft groan. Mats knew the feeling of travelling extensively on horseback without stopping very well. He offered his hand, which Miroslav took and they shook hands. “And I don’t just say that to any Yankee that comes my way.”

Miroslav smiled slightly at that before he took his hand back. “That’s because not many do, I am sure. By the by, I met your deputy.” Miroslav said as the others—all young boys, Mats noticed and what on earth was the Müller kid doing all the way up here?—dismounted and began to rest their horses. 

“Oh yeah? So the town hasn’t burned to the ground in the two days I’ve been gone? I’m very glad to hear it.” Mats replied and watched as Philipp checked over the horses. The man should’ve been in the cavalry over the infantry for his love of horses, Mats thought.

“What have you learned since the dispatch this morning?” Miroslav asked as he took a sip of water from the canteen on his saddle.

Mats let out a long breath. “Not much. There’s not much _to_ see, unless we go further in the territory. They could be anywhere out there by now. Without going onto Indian land or into the Arizona Territory and definitely well out of my jurisdiction, we’ll never know where they wound up at. There’s too many hideaways and ambush spots in those mountains that—”

Mats stopped talking when Miroslav held up his hand. He was more than aware of the general lay of the ground in the Arizona Territory and he knew of the relations between any form of settlers and the Native peoples. He nodded and Mats remained quiet when the other man spoke.

“I know.” He said and looked at the top of the hill that Mats had been on above the town of Reserve. “Show me the ground up there and we’ll talk about it before we decide our next course of action.”

Mats nodded and shared a look with Fips before he and the Marshal started up the brush-covered hill. Fips watched them go before he turned to the others and gave them clear instructions on how to tend to their horses to make sure they were properly rested. He didn’t have any doubts in his mind that when the Marshal and Mats came back down they would want to take off at the earliest convenience.

Once they reached the top of the hill, Miroslav put his hand over his eyes to shield them from the sun and looked around at the hilltops and mountaintops that scattered the ground for a good long ways before the suggestion of a flatter horizon flirted with the edge of the world out there. The breeze picked up from where he stood and it felt nice, a relief from the scorcher of the day under the sun.

“Where do you think they went?” He asked Mats without looking away from the horizon and the bright orange light covered his face with color.

Mats had thought about it ever since they arrived and he looked over the hills. Between where they were standing now and the vastness that stretched beyond them, there was a series of mountains. Mats knew of them, because they were similar in structure to the ones that ran down by Sundance, though these were not of the same immediate chain of mountains. However, both pairs did make up part of the Continental Divide and left the ground a series of fissures and cracks and mountainous. He had looked over the ground, both with Fips and without, and they had skirted the edge of the Territory. They had gotten near Arizona, but hadn’t crossed over into it. They didn’t have authority and Mats wasn’t going to get started with breaking that part of his mandate without breaking all of it. He wasn’t going to get started with the mission only to be forced to turn back.

“If it were me,” he started and moved a little closer to point to where he was talking about, “I would have kept to the road out of Reserve for about twenty miles because it flattens out. Then I would have crossed over the ground, still hilly, but it’s mainly flat, and then disappeared into the mountains over there.” He pointed southwest and Miroslav could see where he was talking about.

“Why cut south again? Why not just follow the road north and head towards Flagstaff?” Miro asked, though he already agreed with Mats’ speculations.

“Because we don’t know where exactly they are headed and who for sure it is. Besides, that’s a lot of ground to cover over Apache land and Flagstaff is days’ away unless you broke your horses to get there. And there’s still a chance they may be headed back towards Phoenix or Tombstone. Hell, they could even be headed to Tucson or Mexico. We don’t really know and that’s the problem. But if it were me, and I’d be trying to get away from anybody that may pursue my hide for what I’d done and still try to avoid Indians while I was at it, I would go the way I said.”

“Isn’t there a lake or something out that way?” Miroslav asked, more to himself but Mats nodded. He had a knowledge of the ground, but it wasn’t an extensive knowledge in the Indian territories.

“Yeah. Big Lake, is what they call it.” Mats looked at the Marshal. “It and the smaller lake by it are the only two places for water in the valley out there. The Indians would be all over it.”

Miroslav nodded and he looked back to Mats. “Well. I will send your man Philipp into Reserve to send a few messages for me. One to your deputy, letting him know we plan to proceed. Another to the Cavalry to let them know our peaceful intentions. And the last will be to my office in the capital, to let them know my personal whereabouts. After I send him and those messages, we can proceed into the Territory, cautiously of course.”

Mats nodded and looked relieved to finally be doing something again to get those boys back. He turned to start down the hill but then he stopped and looked back over at the Marshal.

“By the way, why exactly is the Müller kid here, Miro?” He raised an eyebrow and watched as Miroslav coughed a little and appeared to blush, but Mats wasn’t one hundred percent on that part since he didn’t get a full look at his face. He still felt a grin crossing his face at Miroslav’s embarrassed tone.

“He wouldn’t stay at home and I could not force him to do so.”

“Right.” The word held every bit of Mats’ disbelief at the explanation but neither commented further and Miroslav coughed before he turned also and started down the hill. Mats shook his head and followed after him; the grin was still very prominent on his face even after they had rejoined the group.

Once back with the others, Mats let the Marshal speak as he gave the order to Philipp to carry the messages into Reserve and send them at the small hole in the wall of a place that they called a post office. Once Fips was gone, Miroslav turned to the other boys and looked them over. Mats noticed that he was watching the Müller kid with particularly keen eyes and it dawned on Mats what was going on there. He wasn’t sure if Ozil or Neuer knew what was going on between Miroslav and Thomas, but he sure had realized it. Not drawing any attention to the realization he turned away and looked back at the mountains to the west. From down here, the sun wasn’t especially blinding, but it was bright still.

He refused to look at Ozil. He didn’t want to think about the last time he had seen that boy, or his backside, and he definitely didn’t want to get caught thinking about Marco right now. He had too much to do; too many people were needing him right now, and he couldn’t let his annoyance about the blond criminal bother him right then. He wasn’t going to say he was hurt about the choices and lifestyle Marco had, but it didn’t sit right with him. It never had. He had a hell of a time hiding his guilt every time he went into church on Sunday and he was half-afraid that he would catch on fire from his heresy or be instantly ousted by the pastor who would _just know_ what he did in his spare time.

Mats never liked the idea of breaking the law at all, even though he realized at some point you had to just to bring about justice. Still, he tried to keep those indiscretions as less frequent as possible. But when it came to Marco, and knowing as he did just what Marco did for a living, well, it was hard to turn a blind eye to it. Marco had never asked nor had Mats ever paid for what happened between the two of them. Mats wouldn’t have even if Marco had prompted it. He wouldn’t ever give into prostitution like that; not only would it be immoral, but it would also be illegal. While Mats could settle for one over the other if he had to, he wasn’t about to settle for both. He just wasn’t going to be that kind of man. He may as well resign his position and leave it all in the kid’s hands if he started tolerating both.

But when he had reminders of Marco’s job thrust so blatantly into his face, like the other morning with Ozil, there was no way Mats could ignore it. So he had removed himself from the entire mess with Marco by not going to Lewandowski’s to see him. He wasn’t going to get into an altercation over something that he wasn’t supposed to be tolerating in the first place. Mats wasn’t going to arrest the blond man, but he wasn’t going to see him anymore either. That was the decision he had arrived at the morning that Marco had interrupted his bath when he found out from Satan Bob that Mats was in the spa room. Mats hadn’t given Marco the choice or the option to refuse this idea; he had just implemented it. Then the drama with the missing kids had come about, and neither of them had any choice in the matter. Mats had left to deal with it, and Marco remained behind in Sundance.

Whether or not that would remain the case when Mats returned, _if_ he returned, would be an entirely different matter.

That still didn’t mean he was going to be nice to Mesut Ozil, though. Nor was he exactly what one would call ‘nice’ to the other men that Marco ‘entertained’ at his ‘employement’.

Mats sighed and checked Paa-puuku over while the group waited for Fips to come back.

\---

Julian thought he was going to have a good day when he woke up that morning and the Marshal left with three of the kids. He thought he was going to have a nice, drama free evening and afternoon. How wrong he was. How foolish.

He held Arjen at arm’s length while the man shouted unpleasant things to the man, Michael Ballack, that had accused him of being a cattle thief. Julian was about to let go of both of them and let them fight it out when someone in the crowd of Satan Bob’s saloon threw a whisky bottle over his head and the fight broke out. Unable to control the two men and the crowd, especially when some redneck yelled out ‘bar fight!’, Julian let the two men go and moved towards the bar.

The throng of people crushed at him and he had a hard time making his way through the mess of people while they did so and he sighed. What would Mats do? He thought and tried to find a solution. At least no one had brought out the guns yet…Julian thought before he got an idea. Julian climbed onto the bar, much to the dismay of Robert who eyed him with contempt for dirtying the polished surface, and he drew his pistol before he fired a blank shot into the air.

That quieted the crowd and Julian took a deep breath before he said in the most authoritative tone he had.

“That’s enough of that. Everyone is going to sit their asses back down in their chairs and mind their own business. There isn’t going to be any more kind of a fight, of any kind verbal or otherwise—”

“What’s ‘verbal’ mean?”

“With your words.”

“Oh, okay. Continue, Kid.”

“—and nobody is going to start any trouble. As for you two,” Julian focused on Arjen and Michael, “you two are coming with me. Peacefully.”

He glared down at the two of them and they seemed to sense that he meant business. Julian felt the delight of having won something between himself and the townsmen and stepped down from the bar’s counter top. Robert immediately grabbed the bar rag and began to wipe off the dirt specks that remained on the wood. Julian jumped off the bar stool and indicated to the swinging door.

“After you, gentlemen.” He said and waited for them to lead the way out of the saloon. They nodded and started out of the door. Julian looked at everyone in the bar. “Remember, no trouble or I’ll be back and I won’t hesitate to arrest anyone for anything.”

He threw a parting look at Robert for that and he followed the other two men out. He waited a moment after he left and heard the quiet sound of talking resume, but the sound of a fight did not. He let out a long breath and then followed the two men out into the street and towards the jail.

“Now, what the hell is going on?” Julian asked once they were inside and he crossed his arms.

“He stole my cattle!”

“No didn’t, you idiot!”

Julian sighed and held up a hand. “What proof do you have, Mr. Ballack?”

“I saw him. He came over to my farm in the middle of the night and stole three of them.”

“I was never there! I was at home sleeping.”

“Alone?” Julian asked and looked at Arjen.

“Yes!” Arjen spoke again and Julian sighed before he considered what to do next. Michael was glaring daggers at him, while Arjen looked at him imploringly. He couldn’t bend under both of their pressure so he did what he felt Mats would have done.

“Okay, so here’s what we’ll do. The three of us will ride over to Arjen’s farm and see if we find any of your cattle, Mr. Ballack. If we do, I’ll arrest him. If we don’t, then I don’t want any more fussing between the two of you. Understand?”

Michael grudgingly nodded and he glared at Arjen. The other man looked a little relieved for having gotten away with any accusations, at least temporarily if nothing else, and Julian felt happy that he had not only gotten control of an impossible situation in the saloon, but now he had the cooperation and respect of the two men in front of him. This whole deputy thing wasn’t so bad after all.

Julian gestured to the door and secured his belt. “Then, shall we go out before it gets too dark we can’t see our hands in front of our faces?”

They nodded and Julian led the way out of the jail, locking the door behind him. All three of them headed for the stables. Julian kept the two in front of him the whole way and he made sure that he would keep an eye on both of them in case they started to act up all over again. He just hoped the ride out to Arjen’s farm wouldn’t take too long; he wasn’t going to leave anyone else in charge while he was gone. Julian thought about how pleased Mats would be if he came home to find his cattle thief all rounded up and in jail.

What a nice present to come home to, he thought as he mounted up and started out to the Robben farm.

\---

Erik was busy cleaning the stables after Julian and the other two older men had left. He was just about done when he realized he wasn’t alone. He glanced up and startled at the intensity of Satan Bob’s eyes staring into his own. He swallowed hard and nervously tightened his grip around the pitchfork in his hand.

“C-c-can I h-help you sir?” Erik stumbled over his words and blushed at his nervousness.

Satan Bob smiled a little as he moved closer, leaning his tall body on the doorframe of the stall that Erik had been currently mucking out and making ready for when the Sheriff returned. Erik continued to blush. He had never before realized how _blue_ Satan Bob’s eyes were before; he had always known how penetrating they could be, but it was an entirely different matter when they were focused solely on you, Erik realized.

Satan Bob smiled a little as he reached forward and delicately pulled the pitchfork out of Erik’s hands. Effortlessly, he tossed it to the side and he leaned forward to kiss Erik’s cheek lightly. He leaned in closer after his lips ghosted across the smooth skin of Erik’s cheek. The boy breathed in sharply as he froze, unsure of what to do next. He shivered; not only because of Satan Bob’s breath on his skin, nor the touch of his lips on his face, but because of his words when he spoke.

“Call me Robert, and allow me the pleasure of helping _you_.” He said and pulled back slightly, only enough so that Erik could see his incredibly blue eyes. So captivating they were, Erik thought he knew what it felt like for a deer to be caught in a hunter’s line of sight. “Do you think you could allow me such a pleasure?”

Erik found himself nodding, unknowing of what he was getting himself into. He swallowed hard and sheepishly smiled, blush still very much a prominent part of his expression, as he let Satan Bob— _Robert_ —take his hand and pull him out of the stall. Erik wondered if he had just made a deal with the real Satan for the way the other man was watching at him. He wondered what it would be like if he were consumed alive, because that’s what Robert was looking just like he planned on doing.

The boy tried very hard not to stumble over his own feet as he followed the older man out of the stables and into the hayloft.


	13. …And Into the Fire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  
> 
> Now that that's over with, enjoy (or rather don't ;) ) this chapter :D

It was dark out still, he was positive of that, he would have noticed if the sun had come up. The fire wasn’t crackling any more, and the warmth of it was no longer felt by any means. It was likely embers now, if anything, and Mats almost wished it was burning again. The sound of it would have been a nice distraction from his thoughts. He kept his eyes closed, not bothering to open them, and felt the light breeze on his face. When the sun went down, here in the desert and especially in the mountains, the temperature dropped considerably. If he had to guess, it was likely around fifty Fahrenheit, perhaps in the forties.

It was a different kind of cold, and without much of a blanket to keep yourself warm, it wasn’t pleasant. He could remember what he would do back in the days of the war what he would have done to keep warm. It was then that he had realized his—preferences—for one form of company over another, the pleasure of a man’s warmth over that of a woman’s. He had been young and naïve then, and he hadn’t been shot yet. What a fool, young and dumb, he had been back in those days.

Mats didn’t move, nor did he force his thoughts away from the early days of the War when the Texas Cavalry were making their way north to Virginia to fight for General Hood and the Army of Northern Virginia under General Longstreet and the even greater gentleman Robert E. Lee. He usually would have turned his mind onto a new topic to avoid the memories, but something kept him there on that night and he let himself dwell on it. On _him_ and Mats didn’t even get up to adjust his body when he felt his back beginning to hurt.

He had been young back then, a young man of about twenty-five, when the War had started in South Carolina. Unlike many of his fellow peers, he had not immediately rushed off to fight for the Confederacy. He had waited to see how it was all going to play out. He had heard about the Secession right on his mama’s front porch near Amarillo. When it was confirmed that not only South Carolina and the six other states were going, but Texas too, Mats had resigned himself to the fate of the War and whatever happened would come of it. With seven states leaving the Union a little over a month of the first, how could you stay behind? He would fight for Texas, to defend her sovereign honor and that of the other states. Thus, he had bid his mother farewell and he, like his father had done sixteen years earlier, had gone off to join the Army. His mama hadn’t wanted him to go, nor had she wanted Jonas to go. Mats had ordered his brother to stay and then had gone off to enlist. He had been deployed within a week and sent for basic training. Since he was good on a horse, they had put him in the Cavalry instantly, despite his lack of military training.

It took several grueling months and a lot of mistakes, but he had the Cavalry thing down pretty well by the time his unit was called into action for the first time the following year in Virginia at Eltham’s Landing. It was there, near Yorktown, that he met Fips for the first time. Mats had pulled him out of the river after he had fallen in attacking a Union soldier. He’d pulled the smaller man onto his horse and gotten them both out of the water and away from the line of fire. He hadn’t known it then, but Mats soon learned that Philipp didn’t know how to swim and likely would have drowned over being shot by a Yankee bullet if Mats hadn’t saved him. It wasn’t long after they became friends that Mats taught Philipp how to swim; and it wasn’t too much after that important lesson that Fips taught him how to properly care for his horse’s feet when they needed to be reshod.

Any time after that first engagement, if the Cavalry was going to be anywhere near the Texas Infantry, then Mats would make sure he kept an eye on the smaller young man; just to keep a look out on him, he had said, and continued about his duty. When the War got thicker and more involved and everybody realized it wasn’t going to just be a simple ‘we’re free now’ type of practice, Mats settled in along with his unit. They were prepared to fight to the end of it, whether they won or not, and that would be the end of it. It wasn’t until that fall when the new recruits finally joined up in the autumn of ’62, that Mats met _him_ for the first time. He could remember that day so easily and sometimes he still wanted, desperately so, to go back to that moment and keep it close forever. He wanted to relive it, over and over, so that he could remember Bene the way he had been, before everything happened and he was gone from this world.

It had been raining and the Army was camped near the border with Maryland. General Lee was looking to go on the offensive again, and the closest he could get to the North and strike fear in the Northerners, he would do it. The train came from Richmond with the new recruits and their horses and Mats had been sitting under the boughs of some of the maple trees, smoking a North Carolina farmer’s tobacco that he had traded his last pencil for. The farmer had a good crop and he was taking great delight in it, when he noticed the new gray uniforms arrive and second in line had been the most beautiful man Mats had ever seen.

He had known for a while that he wasn’t interested in females the way the other men were, and boy did they love to talk about it when the Generals weren’t around to overhear. Mats kept to himself for the most part in that regard; the others called him a prude, he called it safety because he didn’t feel like being accosted for that particular crime against nature, according to them. But when Mats saw _him_ for the first time, he knew he was going to have a hell of a hard time trying to hide his particular partialities from the others. There was no way in Hell he wasn’t going to not get caught staring at least a hundred times, if not more, especially if they were in the same unit together.

Mats had planned on staying alone under those trees until he absolutely had to go back to camp and report for his duty, but that was quickly foiled when the newfound object of his attention snuck off on his own to walk the perimeter of the fence that they were camping next to. Mats didn’t move, but his eyes sure did, as they followed the man around, walking the edge of the fence. It was raining, but not overly so, just enough of a fine mist to make things damp. The leaves had mostly fallen, but they were too wet to crunch when stepped on, they just disintegrated underfoot and were crushed into the dirt and the mud. Mats felt the rain drops sliding down his neck, but it did little to annoy him as he let the smell of wet earth and the season surround him. He was in a heavenly place on earth and he could watch an angel from a distance.

That heaven quickly turned to an anxious hell as he noticed the man turning and heading his way. A hundred questions spread like wildfire through Mats’ mind. Was he married? Was he promised to someone? Did he like men the way Mats did? Would he like him, if he did? Could they be friends and no more if he didn’t? Did Mats really want to deal with that kind of thing? Shouldn’t he just avoid him altogether if the man wasn’t inclined that way? In the middle of a War, things weren’t really the best time or place to begin such a ‘companionship’, were they? What the _Hell_ are you thinking of?

His thoughts slammed to a halt and derailed entirely when the man came to stop in front of him. He smiled down at Mats and the Texan had to look up and up from where he sat the other man was so tall. He was blond with brown eyes and so handsome, especially in his uniform. Mats was half in love already. And when he spoke, and that delicious Texas accent came over Mats’ ears all over again, it was so nice to hear someone of similar region.

“You’ve been staring at me for the longest time. Is there something I can help you with?” He had asked and Mats had wanted to smile and congratulate the man for calling him out so easily. Instead, Mats had let a lopsided grin slid across his face as he let his head rest against the bark of the tree behind him.

“Just wondered what it would be like to dirty up such a clean uniform.” Mats grinned and the other man shook his head before he offered his hand.

“I’m Major Benedikt Höwedes of the Texas Cavalry. And you are…?”

“Delighted.” Mats replied and accepted the Major’s hand as he was pulled up off the ground. He brushed off his pants and kept his grin in place when he noticed he had about an inch on the Major’s height. “And also of the Texas Cavalry.”

“Nice to meet you, Delighted.” Benedikt replied with the flicker of a smile and Mats grinned.

“Mats Hummels, Captain.”

They shook hands and then Mats pulled his hand away reluctantly as he did so. He wanted to keep Benedikt close, he realized. Keep him close and kiss him, touch him, do all sorts of things that he couldn’t dare speak of. It was beyond an instant spark; Mats wasn’t sure what caused it, but he was grateful just the same. He had a suspicion that Benedikt had felt something similar because they shared a look that was far too intense to be just passing acquaintance or friendship. Yes, that was beginning to, but there was something more. And Mats just _knew_ for the first time in his life, he had found the right one. The one that was going to change everything for him.

“Call me Bene, Captain.” Benedikt had said, softly and Mats nodded.

“Only if you call me Mats.” If they had been on better terms, Mats would have made a joke. ‘Call me sweetheart,’ or something stupid like that. In the days and weeks that followed, Mats would realize that he could have made that joke and Benedikt would have replied with a quip but would have done so. That instant connection had very much not been one sided. Mats would never be more grateful in all his life.

The War had continued, even after that awful day in Maryland where too many a good man had died in the space of so few hours. It continued through the bloodshed of Gettysburg and beyond. Every battle they lost more and more of their comrades, of their friends and their brothers in arms. It wasn’t easy losing men. It wasn’t easy being shot at, being wounded, or watching another man die. It was the worst thing of all to be the one that took another man’s life just because he was on the opposing side as you. Mats would never get over the guilt of that. Did it mean they were meant to die, just cause they fought on a different side?

When he was recovering from the wound he had received in Gettysburg, Mats had been placed in one of the medical wagon trains and had been taken back into Virginia that way. He was so lost in a laudanum haze that he wasn’t sure how long he was out of it for. When he finally came to, he learned a few things really quick about how the battle had played out. First, they had lost. Second, General Hood himself had been wounded and had lost his arm. Third, Benedikt had been hurt also, but not badly and was recovering and helping with the other men. Fourth, they had lost a good number of their Cavalrymen in the battle. Fifth, Fips had been injured and no one knew his whereabouts or status and he was believed to be missing. Mats had wanted to get up and go find him, if it meant he had to look over every body he could find still left on the battlefield, in a prisoner wagon, or in a medical one, not to mention the ranks of the army. He probably would have, if he had been able to walk. As it was, the bullet he had gotten was in the shoulder, a few inches over his heart. The ball had been removed and now he was being treated for infection and a fever. He passed out again before he had been awake longer than five or so minutes.

When he finally came to, and came out of his medicated state, Benedikt was asleep in a chair next to his bed. It was dark out, the kerosene lamp next to the bed was on dim, but the rest of the ward was quiet apart from a few coughs or soft-spoken whispers of those speaking to the nurses or the doctors. Mats’ throat was parched, so he could barely squeak out more than a ‘Bene, please?’ when he found his throat able to work properly. Benedikt came around a little while later and smiled at him before he helped get him some water. Mats had opened his mouth to ask a few questions after that but Benedikt shook his head.

“They found Fips. He was mixed up with one of the Mississippi regiments. He’s being seen to, don’t worry.” Benedikt’s voice was soft, but oh so pleasant to hear, and Mats was grateful he had it so close by. Bene took his hand and held it in his own while he scooted the chair closer to the bed. “Rest now, don’t worry. I’m here.”

Mats wasn’t going to worry, because Benedikt was right. Everything was in hand, especially if Fips had been found and now that Mats had actually seen Benedikt was around and alive still, he could finally relax. He nodded once and left his hand in Benedikt’s as he tried to go back to sleep. Without the laudanum, he could feel the throbbing in his shoulder, but at least that meant he wasn’t going to be in the sense of vagueness with the nightmares that had been keeping him company when he didn’t know how Bene was.

He was released from hospital a few days later and he relied more on Bene than he had before. He wasn’t quite sure what had happened after he got shot, but Benedikt had told him. He’d fallen off his horse, and Benedikt had saved him when the 20th Maine had made their bayonet charge. If the Major hadn’t, then it was very likely that Mats would have ended up as a prisoner of War and been sent back up North some place and that would have been the last he would have heard of the War until it ended one way or the other.

Mats didn’t like to think about those days. It wasn’t so much the getting shot and wounded part, or even watching his friends and compatriots die around him. It wasn’t the loss of his rights as a citizen or the loss of their small, temporarily free nation lose the Cause. It wasn’t even the fact that they had lost, because they had put up one Hell of a fight to try for their own freedom. The part that bothered him the most about all of it, was because by the time the War was over, he wouldn’t know it, but a good portion of his life with Benedikt was over as well. That only came with the hindsight of knowing what happens to a person after things are all over, said and done with. Hindsight is twenty-twenty, and all, Mats supposed, but he wished in the quietest of nights and the most peaceful of moments, that he could go back to the days when he and Benedikt had been together.

Mats had loved him so much.

The day of the Apache raid the year before had changed everything. Mats hadn’t watched him die, merciful Lord, he hadn’t watched Bene die. He never would have been able to crawl out of a bottle if he had had to suffer that. Instead, Mats had been coming back from Silver City with Miroslav and about twenty riders because of the increase in raids from Cochise and the Apache. They had been almost there when it had happened.

As a good deputy as he was, Benedikt had tried to keep the peace. He hadn’t wanted a fight, no battle, no gunfire, no lives lost. It hadn’t worked out that way.

By the time Mats and the others arrived, the town was on fire and several women and children were missing and a few good men dead or lost. Benedikt was one of them. For a long while in the months that followed, Mats had held out hope that Benedikt had survived somehow. But when the bodies of the dead came back to Sundance after the Cavalry flushed out the Indians, Benedikt still hadn’t been amongst them. But his silver star had been, and his hat, and a bloodied shirt. Mats never saw him again after that.

The loss of his friend, his lover, his _partner_ was something he felt every day. He wouldn’t get over that, not in a hundred lifetimes; he had resigned himself to it and that’s when he finally put in the ad for a new deputy. Julian had arrived a few weeks later and the Kid had taken the place of the Ranger and Mats had tried to move on ever since, but he never forgot. And a part of him would never, ever forgive the leader of the Apache for what he had taken from him.

Lost in his thoughts, Mats had fallen asleep and woke up to Manuel Neuer shaking his shoulder to wake him up. Mats groaned, both from being woken and from the stiffness in his back. He really was going to need to get a few weeks rest on a soft mattress one of these days. Or a new back, whichever came first. He pulled himself up off the ground and yawned, the weariness from not having slept well the night before taking its toll on his body.

Neuer handed him a small tin plate of the eggs that someone, likely Fips, had made and he took it with a nod of thanks. He downed the eggs quickly, as well as a cup of the coffee another person, likely the Marshal, had brewed and he scraped off his plate before he joined the others in packing up. He stretched and tried to loosen the knots out of his muscles when he saw something in the corner of his eye. About three miles off, he would guess, but he swore he could have seen the cloud of smoke rising from the ground.

He pulled out his glasses from his supplies and put them to his face so that he could confirm what he saw. He counted four riders heading at quick speed to the south.

“Marshal! What do they look like to you?” Mats asked, handing over the binoculars to the lawman and he kept his eye on the specks on the horizon.

Miroslav raised his eyebrow but he took the instruments from his hand and looked out across the plains that stretched in front of them up until the hills of the next ridge of mountains. He took a study of them for several moments before he spoke again.

“I think that’s them, but I can’t tell from here if they have the kids with them.” He handed the glasses back over to Mats. “Can you?”

Mats studied again and he shook his head. “No, they’re too far away.” He then looked ahead and adjusted the sights of the binoculars just a little. “Looks like they’re headed into that canyon.” Mats sighed. “Probably shouldn’t go after them in there, there’s no guarantee we’ll have any cover.”

Miroslav nodded and gave a gesture to the others surrounding their now-dead fire. Fips had put it out as they had started talking. “Let’s mount up. We’ll head to the most southerly point of the canyon there and wait for them.”

Mats agreed with the idea, but he tried to scout a path to them without running into a few problems of their own. The mountains that separated them from where they needed to be were too high to cross easily and quickly. And if they went down the mountain side and rode along the perimeter of the hills they were on now, then they would have to cross over one of the giant ranges to the south. Simply put, it would take too long. And they definitely didn’t have enough time to head back towards Reserve and go around the mountains and re-enter the Arizona Territory on the southern side. That would take even longer. No, the fastest way was through the canyon in pursuit.

“Marshal,” Mats sighed. “There isn’t another way that would be quick enough. We’ll be behind as it is. We need to catch up and that’s the fastest way.”

Miroslav and Mats shared a look, a grave one. If for whatever reason the outlaws found out they were being followed and they set up an ambush in those cliffs, then there would be no way to stop in time and find cover. They would be sitting ducks and easy pickings, even for a poor marksman, in the canyon. Still, Mats was right. There wasn’t another way without the possibility of losing them completely.

“Are we sure that’s even them?” Mesut asked and Mats wanted to sigh, but he didn’t. Somehow, he kept a hold on his control and just let Miroslav answer that.

“It appears to be. They match the description. Let’s go, gentlemen.” Miroslav gave Mats a glance of understanding before all of their small posse mounted their horses and started down the hill and over towards the canyon that the others had gone into.

 

It took several hours, but they eventually arrived and Mats was glad that they had made good time riding across the plains. It wasn’t a large canyon that they were slowly, cautiously riding into. But it was a long enough one with high cliffs that rose overhead. There were many outcrops in the rocks which were exceptionally good hiding places if used to an attacker’s advantage.

On the ride into the canyon, Miroslav and Mats had come up with a plan for everyone to ride as close together as possible so that they would be harder of a target than if they rode out in a line. They would travel slow enough so that they could go for cover if they needed to, but also quick enough to not be an easy target. Mats hoped that their prey had already cleared the canyon and were somewhere outside of it now, headed for Tombstone or Tucson. He also hoped the boys were still alive and that they would be rescued easily enough.

But if it was Raul Gonzalez’ gang and it was a kidnapping organized and planned from the beginning, then who was to say it would go to plan and go along smoothly? The group began their ride through the canyon with Mats up front, the Marshal in the middle, and Fips brought up the rear. The young kids were dispersed in the group between the three of them. Mats did notice that Thomas Müller was as close as he could get to the Marshal and it amused him a little bit before he refocused on the task at hand.

The sandy soil underneath their horses’ gave easily enough and they were quiet as they travelled at a trot through the canyon. Mats looked to the hills and didn’t see anything out of place, no outlaw, bandit, or Indian and he continued to lead until he had the entire group stop when they had been in the ravine for around twenty minutes. He thought he had heard something and he tilted his head to listen more intently, eyes scanning for anything whether it be sign of a flash from musket fire or just a reflection of anything that didn’t belong in the desert.

Reluctantly, he proceeded forward with the others and he felt Fips’ eyes boring into his back, questioning why he had had them stop. He didn’t turn around to address him. He would be overly cautious than not and hopefully keep everyone alive than risk being waylaid by a group of criminals.

They travelled through unmolested and Mats slowly started to relax when he saw the opening of the gorge into the plains again and then the gunshots rang out. He tensed instantly and looked to see where they were coming from. It took two more shots to echo off the rocks when he had a pretty good idea of where they were shooting from: on the ground to the left, behind a few large rocks.

“Take cover on the right!” He shouted and the others followed his order, as the bullets began to whizz past at a more frequent rate. He made sure all of their group was behind rocks of their own and the horses were taken under cover before he chanced a look to see if he could tell who was shooting at them.

He ducked quickly when one of the bullets came right for him and clipped the rock, leaving chips of it in his face. He sighed and prepared his revolver to fire and turned back slightly to take his own shot. Miroslav and Neuer had already done so; Fips was turning around just the same time Mats was, Mesut was reaching for his weapon, but Thomas hadn’t moved at all. He just slumped against the rock. Mats thought about speaking to him, the first confrontation was always the worst, but he shook it off. The kid would be fine and besides, if he wasn’t busy getting shot at then that was one less person he had to worry about in the immediate moment.

However, his bullets couldn’t last forever so he called out to the attackers in Spanish and hoped they would listen to him.

“ _Hey! Stop shooting for a minute, we just want to talk!_ ” Fips looked over at him with a raised eyebrow. Mats changed back to English for the benefit of his crew. “Stop shooting, stand down.”

It took a moment and several more calls over to the other side before they stopped shooting as well. A voice in sing-song English called out to him and Mats recognized the voice easily enough. He had heard it in his jail cells before.

“Hola, Sheriff. What brings you all the way out here?” Still as charming as ever, Mats thought but ignored it.

“Somebody took a couple boys from my town. I was wondering if you would happen to know anything about that.” He called back over, and peered over the rock, looking for David Villa’s form. The gun smoke had cleared between their two vantage points, but all he could see was just rocks. He couldn’t even see their shadows. “How about we discuss it under a white flag in the middle of the road, no guns. Just talk.”

Miroslav’s head snapped towards Mats really quickly. He whispered, furiously, “Are you crazy?”

“A little.” Fips replied for Mats because Villa was speaking again.

“Okay, señor. Only talking.” David Villa then stood up and made a grand show of dropping his gun belt before he stepped out from behind the rocks. Mats echoed his gesture as he stood up and swallowed before he stepped out from behind the few rocks that had given them cover.

Both he and David Villa started walking towards one another, about twenty-five yards for both of them, and they met somewhere in the middle of the path in the canyon floor. Miroslav shook his head, but watched the scene warily, his gun at the ready for if he needed it. He had a feeling he would. Despite the fact that Mats had done them all a huge favor by revealing just exactly where the outlaws were hiding at, he was taking a huge risk.

Mats stopped in front of the bandit that he had arrested twice already and he kept his hands at his sides. He wasn’t going to chance anything with three hidden gunmen in the rocks in front of him. He would be an effortless shot, not even a skilled shooter would be able to miss him at this range. But then again, Miroslav and Fips would never miss Villa either. If either he or Villa went down, the other one would be sure to follow. Talk about a Mexican stand-off, he thought.

“So what did you want to talk about, señor?” Villa grinned and it showed his white teeth. Mats didn’t know how someone took such a good care of their teeth like that, but he didn’t like it just the same. Villa had always been the type of man who was ‘bag of cats’ crazy and that hadn’t changed much.

“You know I should probably arrest you. You escaped before you stood trial…” Mats said by way of greeting.

“Oh, you could, indeed, Sheriff. But I don’t think now is the time for that.” He laughed and the three behind him did also. Mats, now confirming that it was in fact Raul Gonzalez gang that had done this, could only speculate who was hiding out in there. There were so many possible choices for the ones who did Raul’s handiwork.

“You’re right, it’s not. I’m sure we will see one another for that in due time. However, my issue with you now is those two boys. Do you know anything?” Mats asked, daring Villa to lie to him.

“We have no boys with us, señor. Unlike yourself.” Villa quipped and Mats ignored the barb.

“You were seen taking them.”

“ _Borrowing_ them, is more accurate.”

“For what purpose? And you do have them, then?”

Villa shook his head. “The borrowing and the why is not the important part. We no longer have them as our guests. They…took a leave of absence, if you like, señor.”

“Did you kill them?”

Villa had the nerve to look appalled that he would be even asked such a question. Mats’ expression stayed grim. He wasn’t in the mood for games in the least. “Well? Did you?”

“Oh, señor. How you think we could ever do such a—”

Mats interrupted with agitation in his tone. He had not patience for killers, and those that attempted to escape justice by breaking out of jail before their trials. “Tombstone, Tucson, Santa Fe, Las Cruces, and I could go on. That’s how I know it’s in your repertoire to kill innocent people who aren’t doing anything but minding their own business.”

“I was never convicted.” Villa replied with a laugh. He had his hands on his hips as he expressed his delight. “Nor were any of my companions!”

Mats heard him laugh long, and loud and he shook his head with disgust. “Only because you escaped. You would have hung for that. And you should have done.”

“Perhaps, but it matters not now. To answer your questions, señor, the boys that you spoke of are not in our care. They have not been for quite some time now. And might I suggest you leave this land, sheriff? Many Indians are about right now and they are not happy with us, it would be a shame if they found you instead.”

Villa smiled at him pleasantly, as if he had just imparted a few words of wisdom instead of a veiled threat and he tipped his hat at Mats, and then again to the rocks behind him. “Have yourselves a nice day, señor. And do be careful, won’t you?”

David Villa then turned and started to walk back towards his side of the canyon and Mats watched him go. He waited till Villa was almost completely at the rocks before he dared to turn his back on him and start back towards his own side. Was the other man lying? Were the boys with them still or not?

He didn’t get much chance to speculate on the matter or contemplate a plan of action beyond his initial thoughts of letting them go for now and following at a distance. They could still be lying and have the boys somewhere else. If they could get a good grip on their whereabouts or where they were headed to—

He was almost back to his side, about to walk behind the rocks. He could see the group in front of him. Mats never got past that thought or that observation before the shot rang out.

At first he didn’t believe it. Then, when the pain began to register at first, he wanted to groan. _Not **again**_ , he wanted to shout out. But he didn’t get the chance. He fell, first onto his knees, as he was looking to Philipp in particular, and he thought he could crawl back under cover. But then another shot came, and Mats couldn’t feel anything any more.

The momentum of it carried him forward and he fell again, face-first towards the sand. He had enough presence of mind to close his mouth to avoid a lot of dirt entering it, but as the blood began to leave his body, Mats couldn’t feel anything and he lost awareness of his senses.

He didn’t hear the gunfight start all over again. He couldn’t feel Philipp’s hands or Thomas’ pulling him back behind the rocks so that he wasn’t harmed in the crossfire. Miroslav swore as he reloaded his weapon and Thomas kept a firm grip on Mats’ body while Fips went back to join the Marshal in the shoot-out.

Mats didn’t remember much after that. His eyes closed and fell into a state of unawareness as the sound of gunfire pulled him under the waves of blackness and he passed out, whether or not he was dead, he couldn’t say. All he knew was that the last image he saw was the face of young Thomas Müller looking afraid for him and that soft, concerned voice of his whispering that everything was going to be okay.


	14. Hallucinations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for the lateness of this chapter, however, I am now moved into a new place and all that drama is taken care of. Soooo…I present this next chapter. It's a little odd, but all shall be revealed in time. ;)

He wasn’t sure what happened to him, or where he was for that matter. He didn’t know much of anything if he was honest. He couldn’t feel any part of his body, nor could he hear or see, or anything. He was in a world of black numbness that didn’t give away anything, whether he was alive or dead or somewhere in the middle. He didn’t think he was a ghost, but he couldn’t account for why he couldn’t control his senses either and register the natural world about him.

Maybe he had come to in a pine box and he’d already been buried beneath the ground. Maybe he had been enchanted by some sort of Apache magic and that his soul was already compromised and he’d turn into one of their spirits or something else. He never believed in that sort of thing, but Mats had. The stories that Mats had told him all about the Comanche and the Apache ways had lingered in his mind and it was hard to differentiate between the two, especially when he could do little else than think, apparently.

The first thing that registered to him was a sound. It came from a distance away, it sounded so far away, and it was repetitive. It didn’t take him long to figure out that it was a song being hummed, with the occasional word thrown in that he couldn’t understand. He was pretty sure he couldn’t understand it at any rate. It wasn’t from the distance of the sound, but the fact it was in a different language. It sounded like a song, a peaceful one, the kind of thing someone didn’t really notice they were doing; just a song to pass the time while you did chores or something, a habit, an unknowing gesture.

The second thing was the sensation in his fingertips. They were numb. He wanted to laugh and cry for delight. Not so much at the fact that they were numb, but that he could feel something again. He still couldn’t see, he couldn’t speak, but now he could hear and he could feel his fingers again. Then came his toes, his legs, his hands. Soon everything began to work again, as if he had finally thawed out from a winter storm where he could began to feel his body all over again. And then he realized he _hurt_. It wasn’t just numbness that returned, but an ache that stretched from the top of his head all the way down to the soles of his feet. His head was the worst; it seemed with every heartbeat it throbbed painfully. His skull felt too small and his brain was too big. And why couldn’t he see? Why couldn’t he see after all this time?

Just how long had it been? He wondered and wanted to ask, but he never did. He never could.

From what he could tell of his captor, though the woman was too nice and kind to him to ever be called a captor, she was very talented at being a nursemaid. She fed him, bathed him as gently as she could—always favoring his head when she did so—and spoke to him, though he still could never figure out what she was saying to him. He guessed she was an Indian of some kind, because she definitely wasn’t speaking English, Spanish, or French. He hadn’t heard much Apache before, but he guessed it wasn’t that, though it could have been. Surely the Apache had their own dialects, so it was possible that he never had heard hers before. Regardless, she tended to him faithfully every day. And he could tell that days were passing from the sound of the fire and the feel of sun on his skin, before the shivers of the night would take over.

He wasn’t sure how many of them there had been. He wasn’t sure what happened before he came to be there, in the first place. His head ached, and ached, on its own, never mind when he actually strained it trying to remember. He still couldn’t see, nor speak, but he could hear and feel. When the woman would sit him up, he would gently touch her face to see if there was anything he could register about her appearance. There wasn’t much but the soft skin of her face, and it was smooth, not wrinkled like an old woman’s would be. But there was only one blemish, he could feel, and she would stiffen every time he crossed it. A slightly raised portion on her cheek that stretched from just above her ear and down towards the corner of her lip, it would probably be a scar, if he had to guess, but he had never seen it. He would apologize with hopefully a look on his face, but also a squeeze to her shoulder and he would instantly remove his fingers from her face at once, if he accidentally touched the mark there.

He couldn’t remember his name, but he could recall one in particular. Mats. He wasn’t sure about this man that he was pretty confident he knew, but he couldn’t say from where or by what relation. The frustrating thing was that he _knew_ he knew him because how else would he have known that Mats liked to tell stories about the Indians? And how could he for instance know the difference between Indian dialects? Was he an Indian Agent? Was he somehow in cahoots with the Indians? Why were they Apache instead of Crow, Sioux, Cheyenne or Cherokee? How did he _know_ that he was likely in the presence of an Apache woman? What did this Mats person have to do with anything anyway? And why did he have an urge, a duty, to return back to him?

He sighed. He didn’t even know his own name, but he knew this stranger’s name. How was that even possible? Why had that happened? He sighed and simply waited for things to come back to him. There wasn’t much else he could do. So he focused on his female friend instead.

She would leave him for a few hours every day. When she would return, she would give him water and then set to work on dinner, humming the same song over and over. He had tried to listen to see if there was anyone else around, but there was no one. Only silence. He could feel the sun on his skin and it burned hot, but he couldn’t tell if there was a forest nearby and he was just seated in a clearing or on top of a cliff. He couldn’t tell if there was a stream nearby, but yet every day the woman would bring him back clean drinking water, and sometimes would even prepare a stew for dinner. He tried to be helpful, even despite his silence and lack of sight. He could hear the woman giggle at some of his efforts, but more or less, he could clean up after himself. He resumed bathing himself on his own. He could even help keep the fire going after a while.

He lost count of the number of days it was since he came out of the haze of blackness and could feel his body again, but it had to have been quite a while by the time he could see again. The pressure on his brain finally faded and the world was bright, so very bright, when he first began to register sunlight again. He lifted his hand to shield his eyes and he could see everything again. He never smiled brighter than when he could see colors again, the world around him, and finally his companion who had taken care of him the entire time.

They were at the edge of a forest, and a stream was at the bottom of the hill that they were rested on. The shelter that he and his companion had been occupying was a wickiup, a small hovel like thing that was coated in mud and dried grass but it served well enough as anything for a shelter. He could also see that there were more hills that surrounded them, and lots of bigger ones at that, but they didn’t appear to be out in the middle of the desert, so much as on the edge of one. The last thing he saw, and the one thing he couldn’t stop staring at, was the big, vast blue sky overhead. Few clouds littered it and the sun was bright in it. He, of course, didn’t stare at the sun, but he never thought he would look away from the depths of the blue sky. He couldn’t imagine not ever seeing it again, and he was so terribly glad that he had the privilege to do so again. He could handle never speaking again, but he couldn’t live in a world where the sky wasn’t something he could see.

Pleased again, he leaned back on his elbows and stretched out while he waited for his companion to return from wherever it was she went, and he stared at the sky while the sun continued to warm his skin.

\---

His cheeks would forever be red, Erik thought, as he struggled to get back into the threads of his shirt. It had been torn somewhere in the process of what had just happened, and Erik thought he would never, ever recover from what he had just been through. From where he sat on the floor of the hayloft, the straw was poking him in various places and it made his skin itchy. How in the world anyone thought a tussle in the hayloft was a good idea was beyond him.

Apparently Satan Bob, _Robert_ , suffered no such qualms because he was still laying down, lounging in fact, in the straw with his hands behind his head, still undressed, and watching Erik struggle to redress with amusement, and a sated, lazy expression on his face. He looked, if anything, very much like a cat who had gotten the creame and the whole bottle of it at that.

Erik struggled into his trousers and he brushed them off as best he could. He probably still had straw sticking everywhere in his hair, but he didn’t care. That was the least of his worries right now.

“Why…why did you do that?” He asked, shyly, and avoided looking at Satan Bob altogether.

“Did you not enjoy yourself?” Robert asked, toneless. He didn’t sound agitated, resentful, disappointed, or amused. He didn’t sound like anything, apart from a person speaking in their normal tone of voice. He didn’t even sound embarrassed, or guarded. He would have looked over, but while Robert may not have had any qualms about what had just taken place, Erik certainly did.

“That…” _That isn’t the point. That isn’t what I meant. Yes, of course I did, but…_ “That’s not what I asked you.”

There was a lull in the quiet of their hayloft. From a slight distance away, the sound of horses moving around down below could be heard. Outside, the town’s normal sounds of people walking around and horses and carriages all moving around carried on. From a much closer distance, Erik could hear Robert inhale sharply before the sound of straw moving crossed into his senses. Robert sat up and his fingers trailed along Erik’s neck. The boy startled and likely had a spasm that moved him away from the other man’s body.

“You’re right, it’s not what you asked me…” Robert started in that drawl of his; the same one that had definitely earned him the ‘Satan Bob’ nickname, Erik was sure of it, for how sinful it was. “But I asked you, nevertheless. So tell me truthfully, did you not enjoy what I did to you?”

Something told Erik that he would come to find that the very question Robert had just asked him would haunt him forever. _Did you not enjoy what I did to you?_

Erik swallowed hard and refused to look back at Robert. Instead he moved as far away from the other man as possible.

“I’m going back to work. Stay if you want, but I’d leave before Mr. Lahm gets back.” Erik replied in the most dismissive tone he could which, given the circumstances, probably wasn’t as convincing as he had hoped. He did not, however, look back to see how the infamous saloon owner had responded to his words and his feigned indifference. He hoped that that part of his act was at least genuine enough to be believed.

\---

He was hallucinating. He was sure of it. There was no other explanation. How it could be anything but a delusion, Mats couldn’t say. Perhaps the pain was messing with his mind; yes, that could explain it. Because boy did he feel some pain. His entire back was on fire, more so than any other time he’d ever been shot before. He felt thirsty, dehydrated, and he needed something, but he wasn’t quite sure what. He wasn’t comfortable. He felt as if his skin was on fire and that no matter how much he moved, which wasn’t very much, he couldn’t get into a restful position.

Something, someone, was trying to calm him and tell him to be calm and be still, but he couldn’t get to that point yet. Somewhere in the malaise of his feverish mind, he could feel hands on his body, trying with what he assumed to be cool cloths to calm the miasma that was taking over his senses. That’s where he began to think he was dreaming.

He barely could open his eyes, and when he did it wasn’t for more than a few seconds at the most. He couldn’t keep them open. However, more often than not when he did, a very familiar face came into his line of sight. He wasn’t sure how, he definitely was positive it wasn’t real, but every time, nevertheless, he was there.

Mats struggled for what could have been days to speak. He wasn’t sure. But once, when he had the chance, he caught in a pathetic grip the wrist of the man he believed to be helping him. He held tight to the wrist and he spoke, deliriously, to the person who was standing next to wherever he was laying down. Mats could tell, even despite his illness, that at least there was something in his hand. At least the wrist he was holding was real, if nothing else.

His dry, chapped lips spoke and he stared into the impossible face next to him and spoke, confused and a little bit hopeful.

“B-Benedikt?”

Before Mats’ eyes could close again, he saw a smile and the sparkle that he knew so well in Bene’s eyes. It was impossible, and yet… Mats let his eyes close again and the grip he held loosened on the man’s wrist. When he woke, if he woke again, he would find out just what the hell was going on. One thing was for sure, if he was dying, at least he had seen Bene once more. That was something, wasn’t it?


	15. The Talk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OMG I really suck at updating things lately D: I promise I'll get better about this! Sorry to those of you who have waited, I hope you like it ♥

It wasn’t possible, he thought at first when he finally came back to the land of the properly living. He felt weaker than a newborn horse, but he was alive, and that was a lot to say especially after what had happened. Mats didn’t immediately open his eyes; he was more content to listen at first anyway. It became more than a little apparent after a while, when he heard voices speaking outside, that Benedikt somehow had survived and was very nearby. That led to a whole series of questions that were incredibly important, Mats thought, and he listened to Benedikt and someone, an unknown female, began to communicate back and forth.

Finally, he heard a flap rustle and then footsteps. He heard tinkering around for a bit before a cool cloth doused in water came to rest on his forehead. He opened his eyes and glanced to see who had offered a respite for his fever and headache and wasn’t startled like he had been the first time when he recognized Benedikt. His lips were too cracked and his throat was too dry to speak but he slowly slid his hand across the pallet that he had been laid on. His fingers brushed against Benedikt’s wrist until the other man took Mats’ hand in his own and squeezed gently.

Mats knew he had to look confused, skeptical and hopeful all at once, perhaps a little angry as well, but he didn’t care. Bene seemed to understand what he meant and he turned to get some water for him to drink. Carefully, Bene lifted Mats’ head and helped him drink. Mats thought he hadn’t ever tasted anything sweeter than that water that chased the dryness away. He drank greedily until Bene pulled the pewter cup away despite Mats’ protest.

“Nope, can’t be drinking too much too soon. You’ll get sick.” Bene said and set the cup aside before he returned to Mats. He resumed hold on the other man’s hand and gently dabbed at Mats’ forehead. “I would appreciate it if you could stop getting shot. How many times has it been now? Four? Five?”

Dryly, Mats answered. “More like six or seven. I’m going to stop counting.”

Bene smiled and laughed a little and Mats drank in the sound. He swore he would never hear that again. It was so very, very nice to hear it. Which, now that he came to think on it again…

“Bene…how?”

The chuckle that Bene had been having faded and so did the smile. In fact, Benedikt looked a little more ashamed than anything. Mats wanted to sit up; he shouldn’t have to have _this_ conversation lying down. But he couldn’t move very well, everything hurt more than it should, and Bene wouldn’t let him up anyway.

“Benedikt, I mean it. How? The last I heard you’d been an Indian prisoner and if you’ve been alive all this time you could have come back…” Mats trailed off on the last word, too afraid that his voice would crack and betray him if he kept going. Besides, his throat was still dry anyway, and this particular line of inquiry served only to make it drier still.

“I couldn’t remember anything for the longest time.” Benedikt replied quietly and a look of embarrassment was on his features; his cheeks had reddened and he looked almost ashamed of himself. Mats frowned but didn’t speak. “I couldn’t remember who I was, where I was, or a whole lot of anything else. I still can’t remember _every_ thing about who I was before…” He shrugged then and Mats wanted so very badly to pull him close and hold on to him like they used to. “I only got my memories back about a few weeks ago.”

Suddenly, he looked Mats in the eye and stared, pleadingly, into his eyes. “You have to believe that I was going to come back to you as soon as I could. I just…didn’t remember where to go back to.”

Mats nodded slightly and squeezed Benedikt’s hand. “I believe you.”

He still had a fuck ton of questions to ask, but for now, he believed him. Besides, Bene would never have lied to him in the first place. The gift of his being alive, however, still seemed too good to be true so Mats remained hesitant about it all. He would wait until he was more recovered before he and Benedikt had a proper conversation about everything. But first thing’s first…

“Where is everybody else? How did I come to be _here_?” He asked and really hoped he wasn’t dreaming. This was all too good to be true; it could have just been his piece of heaven just before he died. Some people claimed to see a great light, what if he saw the one person he had loved the most in his life up to then? Could that not count just the same?

“Ah, yes. Well, about that part of it… The Marshall—which may I say, he looks better every time I see him, hardly ages a day that man—”

“—well you just said you can’t remember things as good as you used to, he could look worse and you’d just not know it—”

“—As I was saying, knew of a medicine woman for the Indians that was nearby to where it all happened at. He figured you all were a hell of a lot closer to her than any doctor anywhere else in the Territories, so he brought you here at full speed.”

“ _He_ brought me?” Mats frowned. He surely thought the Marshall would have sent someone else and he would have dealt with those fiends in the canyon.

“Well, technically Fips did. Got quite the shock when he saw me, let me tell you.”

“So did I! Where is he?”

“I’m not done with my story yet, be patient.” Benedikt reprimanded softly and went to get Mats a little more water, having thought that it had been enough time and the other man was allowed some again. Mats sipped more slowly this time under Bene’s watchful eyes.

“So anyhow, Fips brought you here under directions of where to find her—Doli is her name if you’re interested—and he tried to find the right words to say and was having quite the time when I showed up and saw you and him. Gave him quite the start; I think he liked to have fainted, but he didn’t and said that you needed help. He was right about that part, you know…”

Benedikt’s tone softened again and he looked worried about Mats.

“How bad is it?” Mats asked, trying for indifference. He’d been beat up, banged up, and bruised up more times than he could count. He was lucky his body still remained mostly in one piece after all the hell he had put it through. He could feel his toes and he could move his hands; couldn’t be that bad, could it?

“Well, you have two more holes in you that you didn’t have this morning, I’m willing to bet. You can’t be moved for a day or two, more if you’ll let it. You need rest.”

“Did you get the bullets out?”

Benedikt nodded slowly, but he was hesitant in doing so. When Mats raised an eyebrow, Benedikt spoke. “I just don’t want you thinking that means it’s okay for you to take off. You’re bandaged up for now, but those could easily come loose. You need a real doctor and for God’s sake you need some rest.”

“I can do that when I’m dead.” He started to sit up but Benedikt was stronger and Mats was still weak. He put a hand on Mats’ shoulder and kept him still. A good thing too, Mats thought despite himself; just that movement alone caused him to want to cry out in pain, but he kept it in somehow.

“You’ll be dead sooner rather than later if you don’t stay down.”

“Fine, I’ll stay put for now.” He sighed and made a show of being more agitated than he actually was. Benedikt wasn’t wrong. He needed at least a day’s rest. God, his back hurt more than ever before. “So what happened to the others? Where’s Fips?”

“Well, he and I took care of you with Doli’s help. After we had done what we could and left you to rest while we went to clean up, he noticed that me and Doli weren’t alone. For the second time that afternoon, I thought he was going to faint.” At Mats’ unimpressed look about his story-telling, Bene sighed and clarified, “two of those kids from outside of town were helping out around here and he almost straight up jumped back on the horse to go tell the Marshall.”

“Wait, hold it. What kids? Where are they now?”

“Bastian and Lukas, I believe. Two of Klinsmann’s boys, regardless. They are gone now. Fips brought the Marshall back and they all left for Sundance yesterday.”

Mats relaxed a little, though more and more questions seemed to rise in his mind. He sure did like asking questions; maybe that was why he was so good at his job.

“Yesterday…how long have I been out of it?”

“Three days.” Benedikt replied quietly, with another squeeze of Mats’ hand. “You had a fever. So long as you don’t get an infection, I think you’ll be all right. We can get you back to town by next week, if we take it easy. Marshall said he’d send a wagon once he got back.”

Mats nodded slowly and let his mind trail off. He then looked to Bene again. “You coming back this time, or staying?”

For a moment, he was afraid of the answer for two reasons. If Benedikt wanted to stay, what did that mean? What was so great about life in the desert away from everybody he knew and cared about and—what would be a poor man’s excuse to call it—civilization? Sure, Mats knew the attractions of living out in the wild with nobody around; ranchers did it all the time. But this was the desert, and Indian territory; it was risky to say the least.

But if Bene came home…

If he came back, what would _that_ mean? Things would change around. Maybe Bene wouldn’t want to go back to the way things were, maybe that was some of the parts he had left out with his memory returning. Maybe he wouldn’t want to be deputy anymore anyway. That would keep Julian from losing his job, not that Mats would have fired the Kid anyway. Two deputies were better than just one, anyway. Sundance was getting bigger…

But what about Marco?

In all the excitement, Mats had almost forgotten the blond from the Lewandowski saloon, a shame he was very remiss to have committed. He thought about him then and he felt something in his abdomen. He wanted to call it nausea, or pain associated with having been wounded again, but it wasn’t. He had felt the jealousy when the Ozil kid had been around, but he hadn’t discussed the matter at all with the boy since they had other pressing matters to be worried over at the time. Now that he had a moment, he thought about it.

He wasn’t prepared to let Bene go, especially now that he had so recently come back into his life. But Marco had been different. He was bad for him in all the wrong ways, but that’s what made it so much fun. With Marco, he could forget for a while. He could not have to worry about who he was, his responsibilities, or all the ghosts he was trying to leave behind in the daylight hours. Maybe they could all work something out? But it all started with one person and what he wanted. So Mats refocused his attention on the blond in front of him and waited for Benedikt to answer.

“I’ll go back, at least to get you home. We’ll play it by ear to see how it goes after all that.”

Mats nodded and let out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding. Benedikt removed the cloth from his forehead and put it on the small table that had been carved out of a pine tree. He stood up from where he had been kneeling and he finally released Mats’ hand.

“I’ll leave you to rest a while. I’ll be back later with some stew or something so you can start to get your strength back. Get some sleep. I’ll be nearby if you need anything.”

“All right. And Bene?” Mats called to him as the other man had turned to leave. Bene looked back over his shoulder and waited for Mats’ to speak again. “Thank you, for all you have done, and for also coming back to life.”

“You’re welcome, Matsi.” Benedikt smiled beautifully again and then left the shelter.

Mats let out a long breath as he stared at the thatch work over his head. His body ached, his mind raced, and he still was somehow thirsty regardless of all the water he had just consumed. At least the boys had been found and saved, he thought, and would likely be home by now. Jürgen would likely have been informed, or would at least have that information waiting on him when he would get to Santa Fe. Things were going well enough, considering all the circumstances.

He closed his eyes and tried to do as Bene had asked and get back to sleep. He wondered how things in Sundance were going and if the Kid had allowed the town to be burned down in his absence. He really hoped not, but only time would tell until he got back there and saw everything with his own eyes.


	16. New Arrivals

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To bring in the New Year, I present a present: A chapter update! :D Enjoy and Happy 2015. May it be a good one to all of you ♥

Every bump in the road hurt more than the last, and it seemed as if they were going over the rockiest road in the entire Territory.

Mats was laying flat on his back in a covered wagon that Miroslav had sent back with Philipp as the driver. Escorting him, because _no_ body was that dumb to send one man alone into Indian Territory without an accompaniment, was the Bastian kid and Neuer. Mats was glad that Fips was the one that was driving the wagon, but he was still certain they could have picked a more graceful route back.

He had his head underneath the bench that Fips was sitting on to shelter his eyes from the sun and he was able to look up at the mighty blue sky overhead as they wound their way to the south. But that wasn’t the best view he was looking at. Benedikt had come along as well.

As he laid there, Mats wondered if Benedikt was coming back truly because he thought it was time or if it had been Mats and his need to get back to Sundance that had spurred him into going back. Mats guessed he would never know the truth, even if he asked. Sometimes words were only platitudes, even if the person speaking them says they are the honest sentiments they really convey. Benedikt was bringing up the rear of the group, quietly as he usually would, and every so often he and Mats would make eye contact with one another.

They hadn’t spoken much after that conversation when Mats finally got enough of his mind back and the fever went down. Mostly because Benedikt had been overly helpful to his female companion, Doli, right up until the point he had told her he was leaving. Mats wasn’t quite sure what he said to her, but he Navajo woman looked upset about it before seeming to come around. Mats had watched the pair of them hug before Benedikt had come with the group as they were leaving the little campsite. The sheriff wondered if Benedikt had promised to visit and go back occasionally. Would Bene be that sentimental nowadays? Mats wasn’t sure.

One thing that was bothering him as they slowly crept along the canyon floor back towards Sundance was the fact that he and Benedikt _hadn’t_ talked. Perhaps they should have. Perhaps Mats should have told him about Marco. He hadn’t even mentioned that there was someone else. Then again, Mats wasn’t even sure if there was someone else anymore. Besides, it had all been bad business with Marco anyway. What would Bene even say knowing that Mats, the respectful law-abiding man, had decided to get together with Marco, the exact opposite of ‘law abiding’ and a prostitute to boot, in the first place? Would he look at Mats the same, or would his view be tarnished forevermore as a result of it?

There were too many questions and not enough time to get the answers before they would have arrived back in town. Besides, that was a private conversation and not one to be had on the trail. And Mats wanted to know what was going on with Marco anyway before he even spoke to Bene about it. Why stir a pot if he didn’t even know if it was worth doing in the first place? The answer was simple enough: don’t do it, so he wasn’t going to, at least not yet.

\---

Julian was going to lose his mind before the others came back. He was almost certain of it. If Mats came back in one piece, he had half a mind to hand over his deputy’s badge at first sight and catch the first train out of Silver City back East. He didn’t want responsibility on this scale; not even the fact that Marshal Klose was still here could calm his addled nerves much.

Julian had never seen the jail so full in all of his life.

Arjen Robben had been arrested. Michael Ballack had been arrested. Three of the Ballack farmboys had been arrested. And that had been all of the arresting that Julian had done.

Not a day later had the Marshal come back with Müller, Neuer, Fips, and Mesut in tow along with four swearing Mexicans and two very sun-burned farm kids that Julian had been relieved to see. The Mexicans had all but thrown into the cell by their ears while the other two boys had run off on some pre-arranged orders on Miroslav’s orders.

One of the outlaws in particular had begun to swear up a storm in some feisty combination of Spanish and English. From the Wanted posters, that one was David Villa. The other three were also on a handbill, but they shared it with known members of the Raul Gonzalez gang that was still at large and operating out of the Arizona Territory and Mexico. Well, four of them weren’t any longer, as Marshal Klose had said before he had dispatched Manuel Neuer for the town doctor to patch up the four Mexicans who had various gunshot wounds in different places.

Julian had wanted to ask, but from the way Miroslav had poured a decanter of whiskey down the Müller kid’s throat and then sent him home before drinking a large glass of his own, Julian had held his tongue. He was sure he’d find out soon enough. Something had bothered him though and he hadn’t been able to help himself from asking where Mats was.

At that time, Fips had come back in with a wagon parked outside. He said that he was off again when Miroslav told him to wait for Neuer and Bastian and to get some rest before he went out again. Julian half expected a fight, but Philipp agreed and headed back towards the stables without comment. Julian would have been impressed by that alone, had it not been for the fact that the now-soft spoken crooner of David Villa had started to taunt Miroslav saying that Mats was going to be long-dead before they got back to him. Miroslav had simply glared and not commented, leaving Julian with a sense of dread in his stomach.

He hadn’t found out until a few hours later that Mats had been injured quite severely, but was believed to be making a recovery. Bastian had told him when he had returned to the jail with a small knapsack full of supplies. Julian had told him that he was relieved to see that both he and Lukas were going to be okay, to which Bastian had mumbled a ‘thank you’ and had gone out on the porch to wait for Philipp’s departure. By then, it was dusk and they said they would wait until morning before setting off again. When Bastian had been told by the Marshal, he said that it was okay, he didn’t mind waiting outside. Miroslav had told him to come back inside if he got cold and then left him be.

At that juncture, Julian had been told to get some rest by the Marshal and he wasn’t going to argue, though he initially disputed saying that surely Miro would need more rest than he. With a withering look, Julian had said goodnight and started for his quarters. He had just about gotten to sleep, despite the sounds of the prisoners in the jail, when the sound of gunshots came from the saloon. He groaned and started to get up, but not before Miroslav sighed and put his hat back on and started out to Lewandowski’s. Julian was getting up and getting ready when Bastian went off after the Marshal.

By the time Julian had arrived to Lewandowski’s, Miroslav had the perpetrator in handcuffs and his hand on his shoulder and was leading him towards the door while Bastian was his back up. Julian looked at the others and made eye-contact with Robert for a moment. A look passed between the two of them and Julian wasn’t sure of the look or its meaning before he turned on his heel and followed after Marshal.

With the jail now swollen to a population of twelve, nine prisoners and three occupants including two lawmen and a former kidnap victim, Julian thought surely the drama and chaos must be over by then. He almost believed it. He wanted to believe it. He went to sleep after that and got a few good hours in before daylight. By the time he woke up, Bastian, Fips, and Manuel had gone after Mats and he hoped that Mats wasn’t as injured as Villa had claimed.

It was mid-morning and the Marshal was asleep at the hotel down the road when more drama came knocking in the form of Marco Reus. Julian had been taking down a few of the wanted posters and had been exchanging them with the new handbills delivered from the post office earlier when he barged into the jail. It was there that Julian found himself staring with a blank look before he regained his senses enough to speak.

“May I help you, Mr. Reus?”

“Where is he? I heard they came back. Where’s Mats?”

“Hey _papi_ , I’ll tell you if you come here…” Villa grinned suggestively and Marco rolled his eyes.

“Nice try, but no thanks.” Marco then redirected his attention back to Julian. “Where is he, Kid?”

“Um, well, the group came back but he’s not here yet. He was left behind a little bit—”

“Why the fuck for?!”

“Uh, cause he got shot again?”

That was clearly the wrong thing to say, Julian knew it after he had said it. But it was the truth and Marco was bound to find out somehow anyway. Nobody could keep a secret in this town anyway. Marco reacted the way Julian had kind of expected him to. He started bombarding him with lots of questions that Julian didn’t have any answers to. He let him go for a few moments before he held up a hand and spoke loud enough to talk over the other man.

“Marco! I don’t know. I don’t know anything you’re asking me. I’m sure Mats will be back soon enough and we can get to the bottom of everything. But regardless, he’s going to need rest and not this enthusiastic reaction to his well-being. You need to get a grip and calm the fuck down.”

Marco blinked, but he took a deep breath and nodded slowly. Julian cautiously put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed lightly. “Come on then, let’s get you out of here and you can go back and relax somewhere.”

Marco allowed Julian to steer him out of the way enough to get him outside of the jail and back towards Lewandowski’s. Julian returned to the porch of the jail and looked back across at the saloon. Just before he turned back to go inside, he could have sworn he saw Erik Durm leaving the saloon and walking rather quickly back towards the stables. He didn’t know what that was all about; Erik hardly seemed the type to go to the saloon, but who was he to judge? Julian shook his head and went back inside the jail and waited for the Marshal to come back and figure out when the prisoners could be taken to Santa Fe for trial.

\---

Mats was still on his back when he began to recognize things that indicated they were getting closer to Sundance. The sun was almost all the way down again for as slow as they had gone, and the road was now slightly smoother, but the wagon ruts in the road weren’t helping anything, especially his back. He didn’t think he would ever know a pain-free life again, but what a nice dream it would be. He had decided already that he was going to send a nice long, long letter to his mother and Jonas when he got back and had paper and a pen to do so. Hell, he might even get back over to Texas for a visit. It had been a few years.

All that could wait though.

They arrived in Sundance after dark, but only by a few hours. If he had to guess, it would have been almost eleven and the chill had set in in the air, he shivered, but at least he hadn’t gotten part of the fever back yet. The most positive thing he could say was at least the bullets that that bastard David Villa had put into him had been taken out.

“I’ll ride ahead,” Benedikt said at the outskirts of town. “I’ll tell the Marshal that we’re back.”

Fips nodded and Mats heard him say “All righty. Be careful.”

“And to y’all as well.” Benedikt then moved up a little bit so that Mats and he could see one another under the moonlight. “See you in a few minutes, I promise.”

“Tell the Kid to get out of my chair if his homely behind is parked in it.” Mats said by way of reply and Benedikt smiled. It wasn’t until he had gone that he realized he didn’t know who the Kid was.

Bene arrived back in town and tied his horse to the post outside the jail when he stepped to the ground. He looked around the main road of Sundance and he inhaled deeply. The now-familiar smell of mud and horse as well as the scent of the not-so-far away blooming cacti mixed on the air as well as the chill of the night had him going up the steps a bit more quickly than his hesitance would have liked. He knocked before he entered his old workplace and saw the Marshal sitting in Mats’ chair as well as a younger, handsome gentleman sitting where Benedikt used to when he had been the deputy.

The younger man blinked and then paled considerably when he saw Benedikt; an action he didn’t quite understand since he was pretty sure, missing memories or not, that he and this man had never met before. He would consider it later, he decided, when he turned to face the Marshal. He offered his hand and the two men shook hands.

“We’re almost back, I just came to tell you before we got here. I think Fips said he was going to take Mats home before he came round.” Benedikt replied and Miroslav nodded.

“Very good. That’s just what Mats needs is more rest. I’ll send a telegram to the doctor in Silver City to get up here and take a look at him properly tomorrow.” Miroslav relaxed and leaned back in the chair.

Benedikt nodded and smiled a little. “He also said to get out of his chair.”

Miroslav rolled his eyes but stayed where he was, though a smile did play on his face. He looked at Julian.

“Ah, yes. Son, I don’t think you two know each other. This is—”

Eager to make up for almost a year without propriety and manners, Benedikt turned and offered his hand to the other man. “Benedikt Höwedes. And you are?”

“Julian Draxler.” The other man almost squeaked when he spoke and he, very reluctantly, shook Bene’s offered hand.

“Julian’s Mats new deputy.” Miroslav supplied helpfully from across the room and Benedikt took his hand back after a moment. Looking his replacement over out of reflex, Benedikt nodded once.

“I like the looks of you. You seem as if you could keep Mats on his toes.” Bene smiled slightly at the deputy and Julian smiled shyly back. Bene could have sworn he saw a blush starting on the boy’s cheeks.

“I do try, it’s hard though. He likes getting himself into trouble.” The boy spoke softly, but his accent carried in volumes. Benedikt raised an eyebrow at that.

“I bet he loved listening to you talk. Maine, is it?”

“How did you know?” He asked with a frown.

Bene smiled. “I spent some time with some of those fellas back in the War. I recognize when somebody talks as funny as that.”

He grinned and Julian smiled back, recognizing the playfulness in the taunt and seemed to relax. Miroslav watched the two of them for a moment before he got up and stretched.

“I’m going to take a patrol around town, I’ll be back in a few minutes. I trust the two of you can keep watch over our prisoners while I’m gone?”

The two nodded and Benedikt looked at Miroslav. “I can help if you—”

Miroslav held up a hand and shook his head. “No, no. I am all for encouraging relations to grow between Northerners and Southerners. I would consider it a disservice to the Reconstruction* if I were to interrupt this budding new friendship. Excuse me, gentlemen.”

Miroslav smiled a little to himself as he donned his hat and started out towards the town to do just as he had said he would. Both deputies watched him go and Benedikt turned back to Julian before he took a seat near the fireplace in the main room and Julian’s desk.

“So, I take it you’re the one Mats meant when he said ‘the Kid’?” Bene watched the other man nod and he leaned back in his chair. “I also take it from the look on your face that you don’t like that…”

Julian smiled a little, sheepish as it was, but nodded. “I’d prefer my name, but…” He shrugged and lowered his eyes to the paperwork on his desk.

“Well, Julian it is.” Benedikt replied. “Unless, you’d prefer Deputy Draxler, of course?”

“No, no. Julian is quite alright.” Bene thought it was cute how quickly the boy could blush when attention was dished out on his personage.

“Then you can call me Bene, Julian.”

The two smiled at one another and carried on a small-talk conversation for a while before they lapsed into silence. The clock in the corner ticked away the minutes and soon it had been half an hour after Miroslav had gone on his patrol. Benedikt was considering to get up and go after him when the Marshal returned with a grim look on his face. At once, Bene came to attention.

“What is it?”

“Board the windows, keep the prisoners in the middle cells and lock the doors. No one gets in that doesn’t need to be here and _no one_ ,” he glared in the back cell at the Leader of the outlaws who was smirking along with David Villa and the others, “gets out.”

“What happened?” Julian asked with a frown.

From the back of the jail, a voice that none of them heard speak called out in broken but clear enough to be understood English. It was the Follower, Gerard Pique, who spoke.

“Is there a problem, señor? Is our boss coming to town?”

David Villa joined in, sing-song voice in place. “I think he is, Gerard. I think Raul comes to town to get us home.”

“Looks like there will be trouble for _los Americanos_ tonight…” Iker alluded before he went back to sit down in his cell with a dark smirk on his face.

Miroslav glared at them all before he spoke in a more quiet tone so that only Julian and Benedikt could hear what he said. “On the ridge outside of town are a bunch of riders, wearing Gonzalez colors. I got up close enough to them to hear their intentions and they’re right, they are intending a jail break. We have to be diligent.”

Julian grew real quiet then and Benedikt looked at the armory part of the jail. They had enough weapons, but not for an extensive siege.

“How many are there?”

“It’s dark, but I could count ten, there could be as many as twenty.” Miroslav replied quietly again.

“Let’s get ready to arm up then. The people in town need to be notified…” Benedikt replied, already up and going for a rifle.

“On it already. I told the Müller’s first chance I got and sent Thomas around to warn people.”

Benedikt nodded and was readying his gun when the first trickle of sound started from the opposite end of town. It grew louder until the cups on the mantle began to rattle and the ground began to shake. The sound of a great many horses began to get louder and louder until it mixed with the whoops and shouts and gunfire that sounded from the other end of Sundance.

The Raul Gonzalez gang had arrived.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reconstruction Era: was a time in US History that took place after the Civil War in which the country had to rebuild, mostly the South, since that's where a great portion of the War had been fought.


	17. Fighting Wildfires

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> …yeah so I suck at updates, good news though, this story is almost done. Bad news…I'm horrendously ill, so if the chapter sucks I blame the meds the doctor's put me on. Anywhoo…just about done with the story. Thank you to everyone who has been awesomely patient while waiting on me to get my ducks in a row. I love all of you ♥

“For the love of God, get me a damn gun.”

“You can’t move, forget it.”

“Fips…”

“Mats, no. Forget it! Just stay put and shut up. That’s an order.”

With that, the door slammed behind the shorter man as he took off to go assist with defending Sundance, leaving Mats on his back in a rented room in the Müller’s hotel. It wasn’t like they were actually going to charge for the room, but regardless… In the bigger realm of events, Mats could hear shots being fired from outside and horses running down the main road of town. Nobody was screaming, that was something, anyway. According to Fips, the women and children had gone into the church while every able-bodied man was busy defending everything they could get their hands on. He sighed and felt the frustration of being useless and laid up creeping in on him. 

Mats, like everyone else in either the New Mexico or Arizona Territories not to mention the state of Texas also, had heard just about everything there was to know about the Raul Gonzalez gang. And he hadn’t liked one bit of it.

The gang operated mainly out of the vast desert of northern Mexico, frequently riding over into the Territories and Indian lands to raid and steal what they could get their hands on. The Apache weren’t overly fond of them either, since the gang had killed and burned several of the Apache villages, but they weren’t making an extreme effort of stopping them since the gang had a tendency to focus more on white and American settlements in place of the native tribes. The Indians would chase them off if they crossed a tribal line and they had the manpower to do so against the armed gang, but raise no finger to assist otherwise if they were not being attacked.

The leader of the gang was Raul, and he was the smartest of them all. He wasn’t like other gang leaders. He wasn’t stupid and he wasn’t quick-tempered, nor was he a man out for just violence for the sake of it. He was smart, charming, cunning. He was a gentleman who would smile at you and hold the door for you, just before he stabbed you in your back for thinking about crossing him if you were foolish enough to do so. He controlled the gang like a general would control an army. Mats had heard rumors about him that he had actually been educated in Mexico City and possibly even Europe; but then again, he had also heard Raul was no more real than a ghost and it was just some persona made up to scare settlers in the new territories. While that was possible, Mats had reason enough to believe that he really existed. Witness accounts, what few there were, had confirmed that there was a handsome man who wore a black hat and bandana who had been the leader of the group. They had deferred to him and he had given orders without question and with full authority.

It was possible, Mats had initially thought, that these witnesses could have been referring to Iker, Raul’s second in command. Raul wasn’t likely to get his hands dirty so to speak for small things and the only witnesses that Mats had usually spoken to were survivors of stagecoach robberies and the occasional person who had managed to hide themselves while their town had burned. So, if Raul wouldn’t dirty his hands for something as petty as a stagecoach robbery, then who would? Iker.

He was a leader of men as well as Raul could be, but he did not possess quite as much charm and he was a bit more on the quiet side than the notorious leader was. Still, he possessed a violent nature if provoked, like a rattlesnake in a hole in the ground, and Mats had heard things about punishments doled out by Iker and they were enough to get the Sheriff to not want to cross the man either. They had arrested a member of the Gang once, when Benedikt had still been his deputy. The kid had been named Fabregas or something like that. He had snitched and as a result Mats, Benedikt, and a few of the finely trained US Calvary hit a stronghold of the Gang that had resulted in a group of them being arrested, including Villa and several others had been killed. Those that had been arrested had been sent on armored car back to Santa Fe to stand trial. In transit, the Gang had gotten word of it and had rescued some of them. Fabregas had been killed. When the train rolled into town after the assault, the boy had been tied to the front of the steam engine and a note with the words ‘All traitors will die’ written in Spanish and Fabregas’ own blood had been nailed into his chest.

So why, Mats thought as the sound of gunfire came closer to the hotel, would Raul risk a jailbreak in a town that had a US Marshal in it? The answer, as simple as it was, came to Mats easily enough despite his mind numbed with pain. Raul was after Iker. The little shit Villa and the other two weren’t that important, they could go to trial and hang for Raul cared, but Iker…Iker was the one that would likely take over, if he was still alive after all this mess, whenever Raul decided that time had come.

“Wonder if that’ll change since Iker was stupid enough to get caught…” Mats mumbled to himself as he took a deep breath and hauled himself off the bed. He groaned in pain as it seared white hot through his bloodstream, but slowly, he worked his way over to the windows. His body felt heavier than lead, but he forced himself to stand upright as he glanced out to the main street. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust, but once they did, he could see that there were over a dozen riders coming up the road, yelling and carrying on and shooting at anything they could get hold of.

They were all obviously on the way to the jail and Mats drug his body towards the door to the hotel room. He wasn’t going to just leave his men alone without giving it his best shot at getting to them. He was, after all, the Sheriff. No one else was; this was his town and it was his responsibility. God damn it, he was going to help out instead of laying on a bed with a sore back, regardless if he died trying. He was a leader of men, also, damn it. He wasn’t a coward that was going to let others do his fighting for him.

\---

Marco could not believe his eyes. What was that fool of a man thinking he was doing?

Going the back way, cause he wasn’t about to draw attention to himself but just crossing the street, Marco high tailed it around the perimeter of the town and got back to the other side of the street and near the Müller’s hotel. He didn’t get too far before Mats had come back into his line of sight, creeping as he was along the back alley of the town as he slowly got his way towards the jail’s back door.

“Where the hell are you going?” Marco asked crossly. Already, Mats was pale and had broken out into a sweat. This man clearly needed a lie-down, if not a doctor, but instead he was lumbering along and trying to get himself involved in a gun-fight.

Mats didn’t start when he heard Marco come up from beside him. He could have heard the whore coming from a mile away, as loud as he’d been. He was slumped against a rail to someone’s house and he was holding onto it for dear life. He was only a quarter-ways to the jail as well. He would be exhausted by the time he got there, but it wouldn’t matter. Not if he could help make a difference.

“I’m going to help.” He replied back, short of breath.

“You’re going to get shot and you’re going to be killed. What help would you be then?”

“Just, go back to Lewandowski’s. Or go help with guarding the church. Don’t worry about me.” Mats said and didn’t see Marco shaking his head. Mats felt the other man come up beside him and slide an arm carefully about his waist to take some of the weight of his body. “What are you doing? This isn’t—”

“Mats, just shut up.” Marco whispered before he leaned over and kissed the sheriff on the lips. Mats was shocked, but his body recalled Marco’s lips faster than his mind could process it, and he was soon kissing the other man back with as much energy as he could provide considering the circumstances. Marco kept his arm firmly around the other man’s waist and kissed him for a few moments before he broke it, long enough to press his forehead against Mats’ feverish one.

The sound of the violence just across on the other side of the buildings that shielded them carried but it was drowned out by the soft tenderness in Marco’s words when he spoke.

“I’ve missed you so much. I thought you had been killed. I missed you, you stupid, stupid man. And now you want to go and get yourself shot and killed for real this time because you want to play the hero. Do you know how I would feel if you did that?” Marco asked rhetorically, answering his own question before Mats had the chance to do so. “Awful. I would feel awful. I’m in love with you, but you can’t see it.”

Mats’ eyebrows rose and he looked at the prostitute. “You love me? But what about—”

“I know, it’s not the most ideal of circumstances, but there’s not anyone else. I do love you. We can talk about all that later, but for now, we need to get you to lay down somewhere.”

Mats stirred at that. “No, I have to help them. They need me.”

Marco shook his head. “No, they need to be fully concentrated on the task at hand, and they can’t do that if they have to worry about you too.”

Mats’ jaw twitched but he knew Marco was right. He would be a distraction, but there wasn’t much point getting back to the hotel. The Gang would enter that soon enough and search the rooms or burn it to the ground. He sighed and then looked at the empty house beside them.

“Let’s find cover and see what we can do.”

Marco nodded slowly, reluctant and wary of whatever Mats was thinking about doing, and rightly so. Regardless, he started to help Mats into the building via the backdoor. Mats groaned as he labored to walk properly. “And Marco?”

“Yes?”

“I love you too.”

\---

“Come out, come out, wherever you are, you little rats.”

The accented English called into the jail from where they all sat, guns ready and pointed at every door and window leading into the jail. No one was stupid enough to move and Miroslav called out back to Raul.

“No one is coming out, forget it Gonzalez. Clear out of town before we smoke _you_ out.”

A laugh rippled through the crowd of assorted men, chilling the hearts of the occupants of the jail because it seemed to be surrounded. Miroslav swallowed and hoped that Thomas had delivered his messages in time. He was going to operate under the assumption that he had and was going to delay as long as it took.

“You can try, _amigo_ , but I don’t think you will win. There are more of us than there are of you.”

“But we’re more determined to hold our ground. We won’t give up. To the last man.” Miroslav returned and Raul must have given a signal because a single solitary shot collided with the door lock on the front door. Accurate aim, but the lock held. For now.

“We give you,” he paused there for a moment’s effect, “five minutes to come out, _amigo_. Because I like you so much, ok?” Another laugh echoed around them. “If you don’t come out, rat, we will come in after you. Then it doesn’t matter how much I like you or not. We will burn you out, if nothing else, _señor_.”

Miroslav sighed and he looked around at the others. Bastian looked frightened but was holding up well enough, it appeared. Fips looked determined just as Miro was to hold the cell. Benedikt was beside Julian and the pair of them had the back door and side windows covered. He couldn’t see their faces but he imagined the young man might look a tad frightened, but he put it from his mind. Miroslav looked back to the stable master and nodded once. They would not surrender, nor send out the prisoners. At this point it was too late anyway. Even if they did send out the gang members, Raul would still burn the jail. They would still go after the town.

The old marshal took a deep breath and faced the front door. He wasn’t sure what he was going to say; ‘charge’ wouldn’t make any sense here. He was no Southerner, so a rebel yell wouldn’t be in his repertoire. He felt the need to say something motivational though, but as he thought about it, they heard another sound from across the street and down the road a bit.

For a moment, the marshal was disappointed. How could he endanger himself like that? How could he be so foolish? Wasn’t this a smart man? But then again, Mats _was_ a Texan. And they could be reckless…

Putting his disappointment aside, Miroslav smiled a little and turned to the others and spoke quietly. “Ready your shots.” The others nodded and slid their guns a little closer to the windows, just as Mats called out again.

“Hey! Gonzalez! Burn this, you fucker.”

And then the ground shook with an explosion.


	18. Victory At Midnight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter after this one.....
> 
> And thank you all for your patience. ♥

Mats thought that somebody should have been proud of him. If no one else, he was at least proud of himself for what he’d just done. He was a genius and by God he would one day get recognition for having saved the town of Sundance. That, or he’d be in the papers listed under a huge headline saying ‘Idiot Sheriff Burns Down Town’ if they couldn’t stop the fire from spreading. Oh well, that was in Marco’s and the Muller kid’s hands now. Mats was slumped against the side of the stable as he watched the orange flames rise high above what had once been an empty storefront, empty since the barber had moved down the road.

\----

He and Marco had entered the building from the rear to get a good view when they had found the old containers of alcohol that he had used to clean the razors and other instruments for his business. Mats had had a brilliant plan, though Marco had insisted it was about as stupid and pointless as springs on a rabbit, but nevertheless, Mats had enlisted the help of the blond to insure the plan was a success.

Mats had heard Raul talking to Miroslav inside the jail and had watched as the Gang encircled the building. He kept out of sight as he waited impatiently for Marco to return from where he had dispatched him. As he watched one of the hired gunmen to shoot the lock of the jail, Mats hands were busy preparing short fuses from bits of burlap sacks he had found on the floor. His strength wasn’t the best, and it’d be a real miracle if he got out of this entire night alive, but that would be something to worry about later.

As the lock on the jail door held, Marco returned, arms clinking with a dozen small glass bottles. Mats grinned when he saw that there was an added component to his request.

“Where’d you find those?” He nodded to the dynamite sticks that Marco had placed inside the jars.

“I know a guy.” Marco shrugged and avoided Mats’ gaze.

“Mmmhmmm, I bet you do.” Mats shook his head and took the sticks of the explosives out of the bottles. “Start putting the alcohol in these, not full, but halfway.”

Marco nodded and Mats started twisting the fuses of the dynamite sticks together in pairs. This would create an even bigger mess than he had originally intended and likely the whole town would burn to the ground, but fuck it. At least they’d be alive.

“So what’s the plan?” Marco asked quickly as he dunked the bottles in the big vat of alcohol.

“Make a big boom. Keep your head down and for God’s sake run when I say to.” Mats replied and then smashed part of the glass of the window in which he was hidden behind.

“Hey! Gonzalez! Burn this, you fucker.” He lit the fuse of one of the pairs of sticks and threw it as hard as he could out the window and mercifully his aim wasn’t entirely shitty as it crossed enough ground to land at the hooves of one of the horses. A gun shot whistled by his head but it was almost instantly drowned out by the loud explosion of the dynamite.

 _Two bastards of the gang down, a dozen more to go_ , Mats thought as he prepared to light another pair of the sticks.

“Put these in those,” Mats said after throwing another couple rounds of dynamite and handed over a few of the burlap sacks. “Then light them up and throw them at those bastards when they come in. Run like hell after.”

Marco stared at Mats but the sound of spurs and quickly moving men on the wooden planks outside the door had them moving back into action quickly. Marco did as he was told and his fingers moved quickly over the bottles and Mats picked up the rest of the bundles of dynamite and the book of matches. He shoved the explosives into his pockets before he called out to Marco.

“Get out of here, throw them at them when you’re outside so that they scatter.”

“What are you going to do?” Marco asked warily as the door rattled as someone tried it.

“I’ll see you later, just do as I say.” Mats gave a look to Marco and then he winked. He heard the other man sigh before he started out the back door just as the front door gave way to a forced hit against it. A large, burly man that Mats recognized from a handbill as Roberto Carlos entered the room and started for him.

“Howdy, sir. Sorry, but it’s time for me to go. This is a party just for y’all.”

Carlos crossed the room towards him and Mats used most of the last of the remaining strength he had to push over the almost empty container of alcohol. It spilled to the ground just as gravity would have it and Mats struck a match.

“Adios, amigo.” Mats dropped the match and jumped back as the pool of alcohol ignited instantly.

\----

“Sounds like complete chaos out there.”

“Well I’m not opening a window to find out. _You_ can.”

“I vote we just sit here and hope nothin’ else explodes.”

“Where’s the fun in that?”

“Shut up all of you!”

Miroslav snapped sharply and was using a peep hole near one of the front windows in the jail to watch as a building down the road slowly began to be engulfed in flames. Of the five men that had gone into it, none had come out so far. At least, not through the front door.

The Gang had divided up, some—by orders of Raul—were still keeping an eye on the jail and Miroslav suspected there were some still in the back alley to see if they would go out that way. The rest of the group had split in several fractions to chase after Mats and capture him, or kill him, whichever came first.

Miroslav watched from his point of view as Raul’s face darkened as he watched the calamity fall apart around him. _Don’t do anything rash, boy,_ Miroslav thought to Raul. _Don’t do anything foolish._

Raul never got the chance.

The familiar sound of a bugle call carried through the town and Miroslav relaxed a little. Good. Thomas had done his task successfully. The old marshal turned to face the rest of those in his care.

“The good guys win again.”

“You should’ve said ‘here comes the cavalry’.” Bastian replied before the others stared at him but Miroslav shook his head and heard the sound of heavily armed horses riding through town.

“The Gang will scatter, we should go help round them up. Be careful when you go out. Julian, Benedikt with me. You stay here.” Miroslav told Bastian and Philipp as they started for the back door.

“Be careful.” The boy called to him and Miroslav nodded as he opened the door slowly.

“You two as well.” The older man said and then glanced into the dark alley. It was empty and he and the two deputies left the jail discretely and disappeared into the night.

\---

Marco had never run for his life before. He had run to get away from an angry farmer with a shotgun who found him rolling around in the hay with his son before, but that was different than being chased down by a bunch of crazy outlaws on horses. He was running through the town and could hear the quick clip of the horses behind him. There were at least two of them as far as he could tell; he didn’t dare look back and get tripped up on anything.

He tried to zigzag his way through the buildings and outhouses of the town but they still kept up behind him. Failing everything else, he ran towards the saloon in hopes of hiding in one of the empty rooms upstairs.

Marco heard a ‘psst’ sound from his left once he entered the establishment and raised an eyebrow when he saw one of the stableboys hiding behind the bar.

“What the hell are you—?”

“Don’t ask. Just get back here and hide with me.” Erik replied and Marco shrugged before hopping over the bar as the outlaws started up the steps into the saloon. He had ducked his head by the time they entered, but only by a second, and he gasped for breath from his exertion.

Erik looked strangely calm considering the danger they were in, Marco thought as he tried to quietly get his breath back while listening to their enemies’ footsteps. He closed his eyes and hoped that they would start for the stairs without stopping to peer over the bar, although if he was looking for someone that would be the first place he would look. Marco heard their steps continue before another set of footsteps started down the stairs. Marco’s eyes opened wide as the voice of his employer carried across the room.

“Good evening, gentlemen.” Satan Bob said in perfect Spanish. “Might I interest you in a drink?”

Marco wanted to roll his eyes so badly. If Satan Bob got shot, he earned it for just casually strolling into a gunfight with no never mind about his own safety. Erik beside him shifted to look over the top of the bar but Marco pulled him down before he could reveal their position. He glared at the boy and wanted to strangle him for even considering compromising their safety to watch Satan Bob get shot.

“No drink for you then? What a shame.” The soft _click_ was all that was heard of the revolver before two shots each for the men that had come into the saloon. “You should have had your final drink at least. Oh well. Erik, are you okay?”

Marco shifted upwards from the bar and saw the dead gunmen and Robert leaning against the bannister in his silk robe and the blond couldn’t help but stare at him.

“How the fuck—What the hell—”

“Close your mouth, Marco. Blubbering isn’t a good look on anyone.” Robert replied smoothly, his accent caressing the words like the silk of his robe caressed his skin. “Erik, love?”

Erik slowly shifted up from behind the bar and smiled at Robert. Marco stared even more.

“You’ve got to be joking.” Marco said, incredulous.

Erik came out from behind the bar and Marco watched with his own eyes as Robert kissed him. Not just a peck on the cheek either, but full out kissed him.

Marco shook his head and poured himself a shot of whiskey and downed it quickly. Everyone in this town was gay, he thought and took another two shots before he remembered he needed to find Mats and get him to safety.

“You’re going to hell, Satan Bob.” Marco replied as he went towards the back door of the saloon and ignored the display of affection that was going on in front of him. He was pretty sure Erik’s trousers had Robert’s hand down them. He didn’t care to look close enough to confirm or deny that.

“So long as I’m king of it.” The saloon owner grinned and returned to kissing the submissive boy. Marco tried to push the images from his mind as he exited the saloon and started back towards the jail and, hopefully, Mats.

\---

Once the Cavalry returned with most of the Gang in custody, their leader dismounted from his horse and announced himself at the doorway to the jail. Philipp let him in, recognizing the sound of Major General Clint Dempsey’s voice. He removed his gloves to shake hands with Philipp and then looked around.

“Where’s your boss?” Clint asked, knowing full well that Fips didn’t work for Mats in a professional capacity.

“Who the hell knows. He was supposed to be in bed in the hotel, but then he clearly wasn’t as he set off God knows what after calling Raul Gonzalez a fucker.”

Clint chuckled a little at that before he shook his head and moved over to sit in Mats’ empty chair.

“The smoke is going to need to clear. Some of the men of town are trying to keep that fire from spreading, I’ll have a few of my men assist while the others do a light patrol to round up any stragglers of the Gang that weren’t apprehended or killed.”

“How many men did you bring?” Bastian asked warily.

“Clearly enough to get the job done. A company of them since I didn’t think the entire brigade would be necessary. I was correct.”

Philipp shook his head at the sound of the Major General’s tone and thought that if Mats had been around, he would have told the government official to get the fuck out of his chair. Just in a nice way; Fips wouldn’t have been polite enough. He never liked the man and he wasn’t about to start tonight.

He ignored the military man as he continued to make himself comfortable in Mats’ chair, instead going out to stand on the front porch and watch as the cavalrymen started walking the Gang members back towards the jail. It was going to be a full house tonight, for sure.

\---

Thomas had been dismounted from the nag he had ridden to Silver City on and back with Cavalry in tow for a few moments when he found Mats. The Sheriff didn’t look good at all. He was pale, bleeding, and leaning against a wall. At first sight, Thomas thought he was dead. It wasn’t until the man’s head moved and his fingers twitched where they rested in the sand.

Thomas crouched down next to him and held his hand.

“What do you need, Sheriff? Should I go find a doctor?”

Mats shook his head very slightly and swallowed, eyes half-glazed over and Thomas felt even more unsettled. He’d never watched a man die before but he was pretty sure that’s what was happening in front of him and he felt incredibly uneasy. He didn’t risk calling out for help because what if one of the outlaws came over instead of someone who would help? He didn’t have a weapon on him and Mats was in no shape to do anything or move really. The fact he was still breathing was miraculous, Thomas thought.

“Did we win?” Mats asked, half-smile in place but his eyes were dark with concern. The fire from up the road lit up the entire alley it burned so brightly. Thomas nodded instantly to answer Mats’ question.

“Sure did. The Cavalry showed up just as Miro said they would.”

“Yankee knows everything, doesn’t he?” Mats smiled a little and Thomas nodded, still keeping his hold on Mats’ hand.

“Seems to. Are you sure you don’t want me to get anyone for you?”

“I’m positive. I just need a minute to sit here.” Mats replied, though his voice was dry and sounded as if he needed some water. Thomas felt even more helpless that he didn’t have anything for that either. What good was he? “You can understand that, can’t you?”

Slowly, Thomas nodded, though he didn’t want things to end like this. He didn’t want the Sheriff to die. He didn’t want to be the one holding his hand if he were to go. It wasn’t right. Surely one of his friends would be better than just him, the hotel owner’s son? Fips, hell even the Kid surely would be better suited. They would have some lawman business to discuss wouldn’t they? What good could he, barely a man, could do to help this hero?

“You love him, don’t you?” Mats’ words stirred Thomas out of his thoughts and the boy nodded without processing the question fully. He didn’t even wonder how Mats knew. “Take care of him then. Don’t pay no mind to what people say about it. If you’re happy together, fuck ‘em.”

Thomas smiled a little at his words and nodded once more, solemnly and Mats’ hold on his hand relaxed as the Sheriff closed his eyes. Thomas swallowed hard before he scrambled back to his feet and took off running in search of the doctor or someone else who would help the man. He only hoped he wasn’t too late and that Mats was gone for good.


	19. The Future Begins

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tell you no tales, till the end of the chapter... 0:-)
> 
> As always, concrit welcome and graciously accepted <3

There was a soft rushing sound that carried through the open window into the room with the deliciously soft bed. He didn’t open his eyes yet as he listened to the steady, softness to it because it was a rhythmic sound, peaceful and lulling the way a lullaby could be, only this was no song. It was no natural sound. There was a soft metallic clinking to it sometimes, and of course, the loud call of a departing steam engine. It was such a sound that roused Mats from his state of unconsciousness.

He recognized the sound of the trains leaving the city, and he guessed he’d been taken to Silver City from the sound of it. Sundance surely didn’t have a train yard since they were too small of a town. Mats’ eyes stung from the brightness of the sun coming in through the window and he wondered how long he had been asleep for. It felt like months, if he was honest. For a while, he thought he had died. Maybe he had. He felt warm, comfortably so and not overheated. He wasn’t thirsty. He was sore as hell still, but he still felt a sense of peace about the room he was in. And speaking of which, he looked about himself at his quarters.

He wasn’t in a hotel room and it took him a second longer than he would’ve liked to realize that he was in fact in a train car, a fancy one by the looks of it since it had a soft bed and it was clean. Shadows would occasionally pass the windows from a tall cactus or something and the never-ending desert lingered outside the window. Only, it didn’t appear to be the desert anymore. Mats frowned. Where was he headed to? Why was here?

Was he really dead and this was all some sort of trip to meet Saint Peter?

Mats had a few long moments to ponder the thought when the sound of the door of the train compartment being slid open and another man walked inside. Mats wasn’t sure what he expected, Saint Peter or somebody else, but nevertheless he recognized his newfound companion very well.

“Marco? What are you doing here? Where are we?”

Marco turned at the sound of his name and a relieved smile crossed his face. He came across the compartment and sat on the bed, taking Mats’ hand in one fluid movement as he did so.

“They said if you hadn’t woken up before we got there that I’d need to get you to a hospital for sure. I’m so glad to see you’re awake.” The relief was very, very evident in the other man’s voice and Mats raised an eyebrow.

“So I’m not dead and hallucinating all this then?”

Marco shook his head. “I’m very pleased to disappoint you, but no, you’re not dead.”

Mats released a breath of his own relief and leaned back into the pillows; he kept his hold on Marco’s hand. “Where are we headed to then?”

“Fort Worth. We’re almost there, actually.”

Mats’ eyebrows shot up. “Fort Worth? _Texas_?”

“Is there any other?” Marco smiled a little and leaned over to kiss Mats lightly on the cheek. “Sheriff, I know you’ve been out of it for a while, but yes, I’m taking you home to Texas.”

Mats didn’t really register Marco kissing him, though he would make up for that later, he thought absently. Home. Texas. He could see his brother again, and his mama too. He hadn’t seen them since a little bit after the War, before he’d gone to the Territory and become the sheriff. He hadn’t been to Texas since, either.

Mats felt lightheaded from the news and he pulled Marco close to have something to hold onto. The blond was only too happy to comply and snuggled into his body. Mats kissed the other man’s temple and held him close while something else occurred to him.

“How did we pay for all this anyhow?’

“Ah, yeah, about that…” Marco paused and stretched again, kissing Mats’ on the cheek. “Satan Bob chipped most of the cost into a pot and the town took a collection. The only requirement for it is that you stop off at the hospital in Forth Worth and get those bullets out of you properly. They said that’s how you could repay ‘em for the expenses, and also they were only too pleased to do it since you saved the town. Again.”

Mats swallowed hard, unsure of what to say to such generosity. He held Marco a little tighter and the blond man made himself rest a little easier against the sheriff’s side. The sound of the train’s clattering against the rails was drowned out by the sound of the whistle calling loud and long. Mats thought it would be nice to see Texas again; it had really been too long.

\---

The ink wasn’t quite dry on the paperwork, but Julian was all too-happy to see it finished. Being a sheriff’s deputy had far too much paperwork and bureaucracy for his liking. He shook his head and stood up from his new desk, one in the corner but arranged so that Mats’ desk was the second point of a triangle and Benedikt’s desk finished the shape in the original deputy’s desk spot. It was going to be odd to have Mats gone for a while, if he ever came back, but at least this way, nobody would have to feel left out since there would be two deputies now.

“Bout done with that?” Benedikt asked, nodding to the paperwork. “The Marshal’s about to leave and he needs it.”

“I’m all done, just waiting on it to dry.” Julian picked up the paper and blew on it a little to hasten the process as Benedikt readied the pouch the documents would go into. Together, they slid in the papers and sealed the pouch before starting for the door to deliver it to Miroslav before he left.

“Funny, he came in for a gang of outlaws and leaves with two bickering neighbors fighting over cattle theft.” Benedikt replied as they left the steps of the now-empty jail and headed towards the stables.

“Which was fraud as it turns out.” Julian added and Benedikt nodded.

“This town never was dull,” Bene added and had a smile on his face. They walked past the burned down former Barber shop as they crossed the alley towards the stable. The big building had been unharmed by the fire and was a hub of activity, as usual.

They arrived at the stables and handed the pouch to Miroslav who secured it into his saddlebag. Already mounted on their horses, with their hands bound, were Arjen and Michael who were awaiting Miroslav’s departure so that they could be taken out to Santa Fe to be arraigned for fraud and a few other minor charges.

“Well it was nice to meet you, Julian. I do hope you keep Mats and Benedikt on their toes.” Miroslav smiled and shook Julian’s hand. “They sure could use the constant diligence.”

Julian smiled a little, already thinking that he was going to miss the man. It turned out Miroslav was actually good company to hang out with once the danger of the situation had deescalated. Also, his advice was to be taken to heart since it was rational and made sense. “I hope to see you stop in to visit again Marshal. Just hopefully without the gunfight as company.”

Miroslav nodded and smiled kindly before he shifted into an embarrassed look. “Rather apologetically, I have a favor to ask the two of you before I leave. Would you two mind keeping an eye on these prisoners for just a moment? I realize I neglected to get something from my hotel room.”

“Of course, Miro. Don’t even worry.” Bene replied before Julian could and Julian raised an eyebrow. Miroslav, however, gave a grateful nod and turned to walk down back towards the Muller hotel. Bene moved a little away from the two prisoners so that he could stand in the shade and lean against the barn wall and watch the hotel from where they were. Julian joined him there.

“What was that about?” he asked and looked to the blond man before he diverted his attention back to the two ranchers on their mounts.

“He’s gone to tell Thomas goodbye.” Benedikt replied, leaning casually against the wall with a piece of straw in-between his teeth. He’d nicked it from when Erik had been walking by with a fresh bale.

“Why would he tell Thom—” Julian started before a raised eyebrow and a glance from Benedikt answered the question for him. Julian shook his head. “Is everyone in this town gay?”

“Just about all the ones you hang out with. Bisexual at the very least.” Benedikt replied nonchalantly and Julian stared at him. Benedikt raised his eyebrow. “You didn’t know?”

Julian shook his head and Benedikt cleared his throat. “Well, obviously it’s not something to be done explicitly in everyone’s company, but yes, they’re queer. Are you okay with that, or shall I book passage for you on the next train headed back East?”

Julian lapsed into quiet while he thought about it. He didn’t face Bene yet; he couldn’t. And instead refocused his attention on the prisoners who were sweating in the hot sun. Did he have a preference when it came to a romantic person? Not really, but he’d never thought of a man before, he’d always assumed it would be a woman for him one of these days. And surely not _all_ of them were gay…

“Not _all_ of you are gay…right?” Julian asked, blushing at the question and Benedikt shook his head.

“Mats, Marco, Satan Bob, your friend Erik now I imagine. Miroslav and Thomas. Fips…well we aren’t sure about him, he’s never expressed much interest in anybody. I suspect the two farmboys of Klinsmann’s are definitely fooling around in the haystacks… Then of course, there’s me.”

Bene’s eyes were bright when he tacked himself to the list and Julian paused again while he looked over his fellow deputy. He was handsome all right. A couple day’s worth of scruff looked good on him, and the sun had him a nice golden color. He was definitely handsome but he wasn’t being cocky about it. And Julian _did_ find himself reacting to what was standing in front of him. He cleared his throat and blushed, turning away from his colleague again.

“I see.”

He didn’t glance over again, but he could feel Benedikt’s eyes on him. Julian saw Miroslav coming back finally, but the Marshal looked less happy than before. Julian felt a pang for him. If the Marshal really loved Thomas, it must be hard to leave him like this. Julian kept his thoughts to himself; after all, he didn’t know what their relationship was like and it wasn’t polite to pry.

Instead he handed the horse’s reigns up to Miroslav after he had mounted up.

“See ya soon, Miroslav.” He smiled a little, making the older man echo the gesture.

“Behave yourselves, boys.” Miroslav tipped his hat and then took the lead rope from the two criminals’ horses and started towards the road out of town.

Julian stood next to Benedikt as they watched them go. Julian was proud of himself when he didn’t get startled when Bene’s arm went around his shoulders. Bene slowly led him away from the stables and back towards the jail, arm still around him as they strolled casually—at least on Benedikt’s part—back towards their building.

“Ever been kissed Julian?” He asked calmly and Julian shook his head.

“Not by a man, no.”

Benedikt paused in the alley and looked at him. “Want to give it a try?”

Julian licked his lips and swallowed hard. He didn’t even have the hot sun to blame here, in the shade between two buildings. Slowly, he nodded and Benedikt smiled as he leaned over to kiss the young man’s lips.

At first contact, Julian didn’t think he would care if he never kissed another person again so long as Benedikt didn’t stop.

\---

The golden glow of the sun on its way down to the horizon stretched across the flat plains of Texas and Mats paused to revel in all its beauty. Unlike in Sundance, here there was nothing but farmland and a good few trees that dotted the landscape. East Texas was home. East Texas was a green bountiful place.

“I feel as though I have seen heaven.” Marco said from beside him as they looked over the crest of a slight hill down at a farmhouse with a windmill beside it. Mats nodded slowly, not realizing that Marco was looking at him instead of at the homestead.

“I completely agree.”

Marco shook his head but started his borrowed horse forward at the same time Mats did. The sound of the insects already making their chorus loud as they rode through the grass on the mud path that ran alongside the creek. With every step nearer, Mats looked forward to seeing his brother and his mother more.

Someone must have told them they were coming because by the time Marco and Mats arrived at the front of the house, Ulla and Jonas were stood there. Ulla appeared to be in tears and Jonas was smiling. The sun dipped lower so that the world was no longer golden, but fading quickly into a deep purple-grey. Mats didn’t care.

Slower than he would have liked, he dismounted and moved up the stairs to hug Ulla first.

“Mama, I’m so happy to see you.”

She didn’t speak but simply held onto her son and the tears came freely as she held him tightly. Mats didn’t speak for a long while and he didn’t move out of her hold either. It was truly dark before either of them parted and he had to hide a sniffle for his own emotion. He turned and gestured to Marco.

“This here is Marco. He’s my friend.”

Ulla smiled and offered him a hand to gesture him inside. “Pleased to meet you, please, come in.”

Marco joined Mats on the porch and smiled as he strolled into the simple farmhouse that Mats had grown up in.

And it didn’t matter that he’d been introduced as Mats’ ‘friend’. And it didn’t matter that Mats and he would have to share separate rooms. And it didn’t matter that Mats would probably never want to leave Texas now that he’d come home. And it didn’t matter that he was no longer the sheriff because, in truth, Marco had stopped selling himself a long time ago.

He’d finally found his one client to stop all the sleeping around and prostitution for. Ironic, he thought, that it was a sheriff that had led him to the light, but he didn’t care. It didn’t matter. And it didn’t matter if they settled here in the fertile farmlands of Texas or in the middle of nowhere in Indian Territory. Heck, they could settle up North for all Marco cared.

All that mattered was that in the end they were together. Marco knew that there was still a lot of stuff that needed talking over but it could wait. They had the rest of their lives to talk. For now, he would sit more than happily next to Mats in his mama’s house and share these precious moments with him. It was the beginning of their life together and Marco couldn’t wait for it to all begin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone who stuck around to read this. I know there was a long wait for the end of it and I'm really sorry about that :S This fic was written for two reasons: 1. I wanted to write a western and 2. El wanted a prostitute AU. I combined the two, and this happened. El, I really really hope you liked it :S
> 
> I'm thinking about writing a couple one shots (no more multiparts!) to kind of round out this little universe, one of them definitely being an Erik/Lewy just because I can. Perhaps a Julian/Bene also. Maybe a couple others. We'd see ;) They also may or may not be smutty as well. Regardless, this is the end of this story.
> 
> And thank you very, very much for reading it this far ♥


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